In one breath
by Wivern
Summary: After years of selfimposed exile, Severus Snape is confronted with everything - and the one person - he had never wanted to see again. SNARRY, SLASH and HPB spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Whatever JK Rowling made up is easily recognisable and very much not mine. The rest, albeit not as good, is logistically my doing.

**Summarise:** After years of self-impose exile, Severus Snape is confronted with everything and the one person he had never wanted to see again.

_**Chapter One**_

The exhibition was a success. Not that he had expected anything different. It wasn't as if he had failed at anything else he had dedicated himself completely to, or whatever he had devoted all of his competence to.

At first, it had sounded ludicrous and degrading to do it but soon he dismissed this old prejudice from his mind. It wasn't as if he actually could do any of the things he had spend most of his life doing, and he most certainly wouldn't be able to go back to what he had been born to do.

After 12 years away from everything and everyone, he was growing used to this life - this new and excruciating life - without the one thing that made him _not_ feel the way he felt all the time. When everything came to an end – its rightful end – he hadn't really thought that he would have been able to have an option. It pained him greatly to know why, and how, he had gained such a right, but mostly he was still infuriated because of _who_ he owned most of it to.

When he turned his back on the Wizarding World, not expecting any kind of acknowledgement for everything he had put on the line for them all, he did it silently. It wasn't as if anyone else expected him to give them a speech, but he knew he had surprised them for not gloating.

Severus Snape had never - and would never - need anyone else's approval. He had lived most of his life without so much as respect from them and besides, everything he had done, he had done for himself and nobody else.

'Tell me, Mr. Black, what's your main inspiration?'

He closed his eyes and sighed. Severus looked around, glancing at all those plain, blank faces, wrinkled by worry, hard work and deprivation: physical, financial and emotional agony.

'I mean... these pictures are breathtaking but they are a tad - sad, aren't them?'

'I photograph what I see, not what I'd like to see.'

'Still, these people... none of them smiled for you.'

Severus was tempted to snort but held himself because the woman had bought two of his most expensive pictures. His agent would kill him if he was rude - or, at the very at least - outright obnoxious.

'Everything and everyone around you is beautiful and happy?' he asked plainly. 'Where do you live? Up a marble tower? Inside a bubble?'

The old woman giggled, clearly not detecting his sarcasm and thinking that he was merely amusing her. He almost sneered, almost.

'But of course not!' she waved a dismissive hand 'But that doesn't keep me from smiling or laughing every now and again!'

He nodded, staring at the dirty face of a young child he had encountered working illegally in the depths of a nameless third world country. Severus didn't want to make any kind of moral apology, he wanted to show people what they didn't want to see. He wanted to crash the limited world they carefully put together around themselves.

He just wanted to be blatantly unpleasant to all these clueless and pathetic muggles.

'Oh, how nice...' he drawled softly 'A perfectly pleasant life you have.'

Without waiting for a reply, he calmly walked away.

It had started as an accident, really. One day, as he was walking in Hyde Park, one Japanese tourist asked him to photograph her and her pack of overly excited friends. Severus did consider hexing her but that'd have been too impulsive and he rarely ever gave in to his impulsion.

His very life had killed any chance of Snape being spontaneous. It hadn't taken him long to learn that nothing good ever came from it. It was the reason why he had almost got himself killed by a werewolf as a kid, or why he had got the most regrettable mark anyone could have and why he had followed an order he had promised himself he wouldn't honour.

Sometimes he damned The Marauders, others Voldemort, not unusually he blamed Dumbledore, too. At his worst, he blamed his parents, but to get to this point he'd have to be either completely immersed in the past, or absolutely inebriated, for he never deliberately thought of his parents or the others.

Severus was a firm believer that the dead should be left dead.

That was why he always ended up blaming himself. He had been at fault for being weak enough to let those imbeciles ridicule him, he had been pathetic for going off to Tom Riddle and allow himself to be fooled by such a conman. And he had been stupid for turning to Albus, aware that the damn fool would give everything for his cause.

Including Severus' soul.

It was funny to think that almost nothing had affected him more than knowing that he had been the one to send Albus Dumbledore flying off the Astronomy Tower. But that, most certainly, didn't mean that he didn't resent the old Headmaster fiercely for it.

So after the war was over – the Dark Lord had been effectively defeated – and the bloody Boy Who Lived had accomplished his deed, Severus Snape was a murderer and a Death Eater who needed to be dealt with and there was only one simple solution for that and it involved a close and personal encounter with Dementors.

Not that he'd really minded. Taking in consideration that it was a miracle that he had been alive through it all, and that he had actually got out of Riddle's little horror circus basically intact, he hadn't really expected anything but animosity and a big crowd to witness his demise.

That's when it had happened. That's when the world had gone upside down on him once again, even though Severus had always hated every single life-defining moment he had forced to endure, in which he had no kind of power whatsoever and was manipulated around.

This particular manipulation had saved his life, but then again all the others had done the same, or claimed to, and in the end, he had always ended up even more fucked than ever before, defying reason.

But what really pissed him off wasn't that he was still alive, though he wasn't about to dance in the rain to hail it, he clearly wasn't about to do something to change it either. What really left him bursting with self-hatred and disgust was the fact that he owed this little fact to a Potter.

Not one, or just once.

But two different generations, in two different situations.

Two different, but too close to comfort, generations of Potters.

James Potter had got him out of the Shrieking Shack, but the arrogant, conceited, bloody Gryffindor had only done it so his dear friend wouldn't face serious consequences for being the mind behind Snape's death.

There had been no benevolent act or solidarity in it, something for what – even though he'd never utter a word to anyone – he'd be forever grateful. It was always a relief to know that in his own brave, heroic way, James had never stopped being an arse.

For all the tormenting the senior Potter had put him through, all the years of humiliation and gratuitous public attacks, Severus had always been sure that he had more than a right to hate James' son… it was almost his cosmic obligation to do so.

Like father, like son.

And the boy had had such a terrible karma that his godfather had been Black.

Sure the wanker had been falsely accused of murder, spent 12 years in Azkaban for something he hadn't done, and that the only thing that had kept him sane – as sane as a sick son of a bitch like him could be – had been to know that he had to avenge his best friends, yet Sirius had been the type of man that deserved Azkaban just for breathing, so no harm done there.

It would have been insane to expect him to mourn the damn man. Severus was many things but he had never been a hypocrite.

He had made it clear to Dumbledore that he wasn't about to wipe Harry Potter's arse just because the boy had – at the time, presumably – defeated the greatest dark wizard that had ever existed. The brat was still a Potter and he had sworn to hate them all.

The fact that the Golden Boy was a carbon copy of his blasted father just helped matters, really.

So even with everything he had done – indirectly, obviously – to help the bloody boy, Severus still hated his guts. Sure he expected the incompetent twat to win, again, but that hadn't meant that he was about to become one of his minions.

Secretly he had been glad to know that the boy had seen him – doing what he had done to Albus. That sure as hell would kill any kind of possible - anything between them. After the pensive incident during Potter's fifth-year all that Severus had ever wanted from the boy was distance.

But clearly he hadn't made that crystal obvious during six years of public belittling and deprecating exchange of words, offensive comments and a few truths tossed here and there about the boy's father and his cronies.

After all that had happened between them, Harry _fucking_ Potter had testified on his behalf and was the only one to be responsible for his mere 10 years in Askaban, with the possibility of "social rehabilitation" after eight years of "well-behaved enclosure". As if there was a way to be ill-behaved in a cell as you spend day and night reliving your worst imagined, and lived, nightmares.

It was really horrible to imagine that what led the Ministry Poster-Boy to his defense was learning what Albus had practically forced Severus to do it, using his promise to Narcissa and his unhidden care for Draco to whip him into action.

The worst wasn't that he was alive and free because of the Boy Who Lived. The worst was knowing that he was alive and free because Harry Potter's memory of Dumbledore had been shattered and he sympathized with Severus.

Sympathized, surely, because if Snape ever suspected that the boy had pitied him, he'd finish what the Ministry and Wizarding World hadn't had the guts to.

When he left Azkaban, Severus had spent the last 2 years of his sentence being monitored by Aurors and Healers. All of them trying to gauge anything that could indicate that he was about to go berserk and had to be tossed indefinitely back inside the prison.

Too bad for them, Severus Snape never did what people wanted him to.

Well, at least not when given a choice.

So for those two years he hibernated, barely had a life of his own and lived in a shitty place with a shitty job in an apothecary. It had been cruel, even worse than leaving him in Azkaban, to put him so close to the only things he had ever truly loved in his life while he knew he could never touch anything.

For all those years, he barely missed his wand but he itched every day to brew a potion.

Only when he was fully released was he able to have his wand back and given permission to work on his cauldron again. But by that time, Severus Snape was persona non-grata in the Wizarding World, an official pariah. He would never find a job mastering potions, and teaching again was completely out of question. No one would hire a former Death Eater and murderer, no matter what he had done to redeem himself of both crimes.

So Severus left it all behind and forsook magic.

He did use his wand at home, for mild purposes, and he had a lab at his house where he brew his beloved potions and even dared to create new and efficient new mixtures. All the while aware that he could never again share the knowledge he was acquiring, and developing, with anybody else.

The thought didn't bother him half as much as it probably should but only when he got hold of a camera for the first time did he see that he really could do something he could be acknowledged for.

Unlike the digital apparatus that the tourist had handed to him that day, Severus mostly liked to work with good old fashion film. He suspected that it had been that part of the process that got him further into the activity. It was so much like doing something at the lab - the chemistry involved, the precision required and how even the smallest changes had grand effects as results fascinated him.

One day, as he was unobtrusively enjoying a quiet afternoon at a café, a noisy young man had glimpsed over his shoulder, checking his pictures as he studied them after one long night in the dark-room he sometimes turned his lab into. The annoying prat had been the tall, auburn-haired and dimpled figure of Yorick Brown. Severus had disliked him on sight, but then again he disliked most everyone on sight. Yorick hadn't seemed bothered by his foul temper, had only smiled and told him that he reminded Brown of the boy's father.

Snape didn't know who the progenitor of such an obnoxious creature was but he had despised the comparison all the same. Still, it had been thus that he had met his agent. Brown put up with him and the reciprocity was true so Severus photographed and Yorick sold, it was an arrangement that worked pretty well for both of them.

Well, it did when Snape didn't bite potential clients' heads off.

'Mr. Black, why do you only work with black-and-white shots?'

He took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes praying for patience.

'Because some people are color blind.'

The imbecile actually nodded, making consensual noises, as if Severus had given him a very personal insight.

The older man groaned.

That was one of the things he hated the most about exhibitions. All these muggles, making stupid questions and acting as if his answers held the essence of his being and the world as they knew it.

It was really close to what he used to go through at any social gathering when he was still a Potions Master. He had come up with ideas for more than a couple of herbs and potions, just to amuse himself, while suffering with - and ignoring most - of the conversations he had had with pretense geniuses in the area during such events. Dumbledore would then smile at him knowingly, his blue eyes twinkling in bemusement.

Severus had always abhorred any kind of forced interaction, be them organized for purely social purposes – like weddings, birthday parties or anything as ridiculous as that -, or those organized to obvious detrimental ends; such as Death Eaters meetings. In his estimation, there was little difference when one took in consideration the amount of agony that could be witnessed in such events – if anything, at least Voldemort's gatherings rarely lasted very long.

He figured he should enjoy his exhibitions more than he was in the moment; after all, those people were there to tell him how brilliant they thought he was. But, despite what everyone would actually believe, Severus had never appreciated to be under the spotlight.

'Severus Black?'

Slightly shaken from his mental digression, he took a deep calming breath before he turned towards the person talking to him. Yorick had already caught him pretending not to hear when someone had called him and the twit had threatened him with a round of interviews if he did it again that night.

'Yes?'

The young man looked at him with a tiny frown on his brow, his eyes danced over Severus' face, sparkling with curiosity. Snape couldn't help but frown in retaliation at that open perusal, allowing himself the time to reflect whether he knew that young stranger.

He was just as tall as Severus, his black hair seemed to reach his shoulder but the green beret on his head kept most of it from view. The younger man was also incredibly pale, the kind of pallor that he had had once. Thanks to too many days and nights spent in the dungeons.

The other man was wearing black trousers and a green shirt, much in the same deep shade of his cap. His face revealed that he looked too young to be over thirties, but his eyes shone wistfully, proving that he was way out of his teens.

Severus couldn't see any prominent feature, or anything that could actually spark recognition or mark that face in his memory. There was no Victorian nose like his, or a constant frown, black lengthy hair or onyx eyes. Nothing unusual, just ordinary.

Too ordinary.

He was sure the boy knew exactly who he was, though. The way his eyes stopped at Severus' nose, or skimmed over Severus' hair, his right eyebrow raising at finding most of it pulled back from his face was quite telling. He did it the way one does when looking at something once very familiar but unseen for such a long time that they can't help but take the time to catalogue the differences between the memory they had and the current reality of it.

Snape frowned deeply, his eyes narrowing and his voice low and rasp, as it hadn't been for all those forsaken years. He had surely thought he had forgotten all about it, but there it was. For one dull moment, the older man believed he was back in his beloved dungeons, with his despicable students.

'I do believe it is awfully rude to stare openly at someone without so much as a word.'

The young man blinked furiously, his eyes widening ever so softly before he grinned. Severus' eyes narrowed to slits.

'I'm sorry' the other said politely, smiling. 'I just wanted to make sure that it was really—I mean. I was just surprised. I didn't - I couldn't believe-'

'You're not making any sense.'

This time the young man chuckled and nodded.

'I know' he continued in the same patient and curious tone, 'I'm sorry. I just never thought I'd see you again... It's been so many years and we looked all over for you - of course, it never crossed my mind to look for you in midst of muggles but—'

Severus started.

A wizard.

After two solid years away from London, let alone Diagon Alley, making sure he buried himself deep into that life; that plain, boring life.

He knew his sudden tension showed because the young man's face went blank immediately. For some reason that affected Snape more than if he had seen a wand pointing at his throat.

He had seen that blank face before. He had seen that cold detachment, that patient challenge. Severus took a step back.

'Who are you?'

He wished he had demanded it, but he had merely hissed the inquiry. It was shameful yet he couldn't do anything to change it. It was like he was back at Azkaban, back to dreading and seeing that nothing had changed... those empty blue depths could still watch him, scrutinize him and take everything away.

The young man seemed to sense this change of pace, too, his face adopting a concerned expression, the eyes staring in askance at the older man. Severus had the terrible certainty that his reaction wasn't the first of the kind that the other had witnessed.

Long bony fingers, slightly stained with a yellow substance, moved over that young face and rubbed those eyes firmly. Snape couldn't understand why but his breathing became labored.

For all the time he had spent far away from magic, and the world it had ruled for centuries, he had never feared to be found and sent back. In fact, he had kind of expected that to happen - the day when they would say, "Enough nonsense! Get that greasy old bat back here, lock him up and throw away the key, yeah?"

He figured he'd deal with what came very well when it actually happened. What he couldn't deal with was a bloody git who looked at him as, as - only one person had ever had.

The hand suddenly stopped the movement and pulled away. Unable to look anywhere else, Severus waited for those eyes to open again. He couldn't help but chasten himself, those years among muggles made him sloppy.

A Glamour, obviously, and he hadn't noticed it earlier. By Salazar, he was getting old!

When those eyelids were pried open again, Snape was sure he was going to regret his question. When those eyes blinked the light away, he was almost sure he would be sick. When the pupils got used to the light inside the gallery and shrank to reveal the deepest and most vivid dark green he had ever seen, Severus was on the verge of having an apoplectic fit.

_Fuck_.

Harry Potter.

'What are you doing here?'

Potter laughed kindly, his hand moving back to his face. Snape considered punching him, and what surprised him was the fact that the urge to cause bodily pain to the brat surpassed the itching to hex him into the next century.

'Only my eyes, Professor?' Potter asked lightly, clearly impressed '...that's a first.'

'I'm not a professor.'

The younger man nodded in acquiesce and pulled his hand off his face. It shouldn't take so much to do something simple like a Glamour on his eyes, it was when Severus slapped himself mentally. It wasn't a spell, Potter hadn't cast an illusion charm, he had changed the color of his eyes. And he had probably fixed his deficient eyesight too for he wasn't wearing those insufferable glasses.

Severus could have been impressed that the boy could do such a complicated transformation, not being a metamorphmagus himself, but as everything in Potter had ever infuriated him, these new abilities only unnerved him more.

'Right', he smiled before he added in a solicitous tone ' You're a photographer.'

'What are you doing here, Potter?'

'Why, I was invited here, sir.'

As if in cue, Yorick appeared out of nowhere and pulled Potter in a bone-crashing, bear hug. Both boys laughed happily, tightening their holds around each other.

'Harry! You came!'

'Yorick, how are you, mate?'

'I'm fine! And you?'

'I'm alright.'

'I see you've just met the grand artist.'

'I was on the verge to, actually', the brunette slyly looked over at Severus before continuing in an overly polite manner 'I'm Harry Potter, sir. It's a real honour to finally meet you, Mr. Black.'

Severus looked at the outstretched hand for far longer than it was necessary, or polite to do so, but he really could care less. If Brown hadn't been there, he would have stood there all night without getting anywhere near the damn boy. But he couldn't raise any kind of suspicion, least of all with Yorick, the boy wouldn't let him live it down.

Curling his lips, he took Potter's hand in a bone crashing handshake. The Golden Boy returned it just as fiercely, his grin never wavering.

'Liked anything, Harry?' Brown asked with one arm still draped over Potter's shoulders.

'Actually, yes I did. You have a very good eye, Mr. Black, I like the way you play with the shadows in your work.'

Severus didn't even have a mind to insult him. He merely sneered, drawing a hideous grin from his former student and an intrigued frown from Yorick.

'Don't mind him, Harry - he's just a bitter old man. You know, the troubled genius type.'

That Brown was absolutely right didn't change the fact that Snape wouldn't need him to justify his behavior to anyone, least of all to the bloody Boy Who Lived.

'What have I told you about talking about me when I'm right next to you, Brown?'

'You probably told me to never do it but I wouldn't be sure', the younger man smirked that disgusting dimpled smirk of his and turned to the other young man at his right 'He's always telling not to do a lot of things where he's concerned - it's hard to keep track.'

'Where do you two know each other from?'

Yorick hesitated, glancing over at Severus, suddenly unsure of himself. It wasn't often when Snape showed much – or any - interest in his life.

Harry and I went to university together. He was my best friend's roommate, weren't you, Harry?'

'Yes.' Potter smiled lightly, 'How's Howard doing?'

Yorick's eyes grew ever so lightly, like they always did when he was talking about something he was interested in, which would be his friends and money.

'Pretty fine.' He waved a dismissive hand and then shrugged 'Finally came out, in fact.'

Severus noticed that the Golden Boy blinked once, twice, his smile frozen on his face and his eyes absolutely impassive. It was hesitation, through and through. Obviously the prudish brat wasn't very comfortable with his ex-roommate's queerness.

'Really? How did it go?' Even though his facial expression hadn't changed in the least, Snape detected an exaggerated nonchalant in Potter's voice. Nothing that Brown would pick on but it did perk up his curiosity.

Well, it had before he remembered that it was Potter and Severus just wanted him out of there. Or dead. Whatever happened faster.

'Terribly.' Yorick shook his head with little sympathy in his voice and demeanor 'But he's happy now - he should have been here but his latest got sick and he's taking care of him.'

Potter nodded and unconsciously let his fingertips brush over his left forearm, his eyes dancing over his own body then moving to the picture at his left, until he found the ever-watchful eyes of Severus Snape.

'I see', he said with a little nod.

'You went to university.'

Potter's eyebrow rose imperceptibly, but it was enough to make Snape's features spasm in what almost ended up being a curl of lips. It pained the former potions professor to talk to him at all and for the life of him, Severus didn't know why he was saying anything even as he uttered the words.

'Yes.' He said amicably, 'I majored on chemistry.'

'Chemistry', was Severus' blank echo and it earned him another irritating nod.

Brown chose that moment to be the disgustingly energetic person that he was and started to clap excitedly as he gestured wildly between the men before him.

'Severus here used to be a chemistry teacher, too, Harry!' he bluntly ignored his artist's scowl, focusing on his old friend's pleasant smile 'You two have a lot in common!'

Snape hated it, he honestly loathed himself for what he was about to do, but it was inescapable and he knew it. He simply had to ask the question, aware that not even the nonchalant and controlled tone he used, masked the shock the information had caused in him.

'You are a teacher.'

Potter nodded and smiled kindly, probably aware of the indignation that was oozing from the Potions Mater's every pore.

'Yes, sir' he said politely as if waiting for a disaster to happen 'I have been one for over 4 years.'

'A -' Severus' lip did curl this time 'Chemistry teacher?'

'Yes.'

With the shock of talking to a wizard, this wizard being the very last one he would ever want to encounter in what was left of his existence, and finding out that Harry Potter was a Potions Professor, Severus Snape was nearly sure that he was still in Azkaban and his mind had finally caved.

It was the only explanation for that surreal experience.

He was so sure that was the case, that when Brown chimed in, breaking the uncomfortable silence Severus hadn't noticed that he had let fall among them, he was almost startled.

'Will you excuse me for a sec?' Yorick was quite obviously talking to his friend 'They're calling Black over there. He never attends these sort of gatherings so I'm the one who answers all the questions— can you chaperone him for a bit please, Harry? Severus is known for his French departure. Thank you for coming, man!'

Potter dared to send Snape a grin before he nodded towards his friend.

'Thank _you_ for inviting me, Yorick.'

As soon as the muggle was out of earshot, Snape crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilted slightly back as he looked down at Potter from over his nose.

'What do you want, Potter?'

'Is it really so hard to believe that this is all a good coincidence, S - Black?' the younger man shrugged as he turned his attention to another one of the pictures hung at the gallery.

'A good coincidence?' Snape drawled with clear disgust at the mere idea 'Yes, it is very hard to believe that.'

'Well, that's too bad' Potter shrugged again, not sparring his former professor a look '...because it is. I most certainly would never suspect that Severus Black could be you. I even joked about it with Ron, how you would certainly have an aneurysm if you ever found out that there was someone out there with yours and Sirius' name.'

Snape ignored the poke in his words. He would not explain his decisions to the brat. Of course, it wasn't that much of a stretch to deduce that the older man had wanted out, he'd wanted peace. He had wanted everyone to just forget he had ever existed.

With enough luck, all of them would have assumed him dead.

'How amusing' Snape said, making clear that he found it anything but.

'I mean it, Snape' he grinned but still didn't look at him. 'I didn't know you were here-you did your best to keep everyone away. Even I know that you've got to respect that.'

The Potions Master only stared as Potter leaned forward to inspect one of his pictures.

'You know, I meant what I said about the shadows. Do you really only use natural light?'

'Yes' was his grunted answer.

'That's very impressive-it reminds me of some of Salgado's work.'

'That's a relief since he is a reference', was the reply, dripping with sarcasm.

'Really?' that made the other man cast him a glance briefly, his eyes shinning with amusement 'Well, good. I didn't say anything stupid then.'

Snape's snort made it quite clear that he doubted fiercely that Potter would ever be able to say anything that wasn't stupid. Still, the older man didn't leave his side. Severus wanted the boy gone, at once, but he also wanted to know what the bloody hell he was doing there.

What could the Wizarding World want from him this time? What would he have to lose to the Golden Boy? He had handed over more than he cared to admit because of the insufferable idiot.

'Have you ever considered teaching?'

The question was low, secretive but also light and talkative. It took Snape a few seconds to truly decide that there was no outright threat in it. Was it possible that Potter was truly trying to chitchat?

Slytherin be damned, he must be drooling and barking in the deepest and darkest cell in Azkaban.

'Although I do admit that I am good ', Severus narrowed his eyes slightly, he had really believed that his sanity would have lasted longer than mere 12 years of progressive psychological torture, 'I don't yet believe I master the technicalities to teach photography satisfactorily.'

Potter chuckled lightly and shook his head, being careful enough to avoid eye contact still.

'I mean potions, Snape, have you ever thought about teaching potions again?'

Severus' sharp intake of breath could only be heard by him and Potter, and that was already an abysmally big crowd.

'I see', he hissed threateningly 'I knew it wasn't just a coincidence. Get out, Potter.'

The boy raised his hands in a peace sign, in response to the other man's bark. Severus didn't care about how placating the boy wanted to appear in that moment, what he wanted was to get rid of Potter and if he had to use magic in front of a room full of muggles. So be it.

'Calm down, Snape' he said as patiently and politely as he had all night '...it's only a question. I'm looking for a new professor and I couldn't find anyone qualified for the job, and I find you here of all places-I don't know. It did sound like too good of a chance to let it go by without a word.'

'There's no way in hell, I will go back to Hogwarts.'

Severus was surprised by his throatily hiss and by the look on Potter's face so was he. Snape cursed himself a fool, but he still couldn't imagine how the boy had caught the hint of hurt in his aggressive tone but, if his impassive stare was any indication, the Golden Boy had caught it right on.

'I understand.' Potter replied in a monotone 'I will never set my foot there again either. I'm at Durmstrang.'

'Durmstrang'

'Yes, fabulous school', his voice pleasant again, although he obviously was trying hard to hold back most of his enthusiasm, Severus could see the way his green eyes shone.

He hated to admit but he was taken aback. Of all the things the Golden Boy could have said, his mention of the ancient school really was unexpected. It wasn't only that Potter had managed to become a teacher, both in Wizarding and Muggle world, he had actually managed to become a Potions teacher who worked at a school that notoriously emphasized its syllabus on Dark Arts.

The world had gone to plot and Severus could feel a migraine coming.

'Are you Durmstrang's Headmaster?' he bit out through his tightly clenched teeth.

'No.' Potter chuckled, clearly amazed that the older man would think such a thing 'I'm only a teacher.'

'Then why are _you_ looking for professors?' the Potions Master bit out impatiently and rudely.

'I'm just trying to help.' He shrugged, 'Piotr is the Headmaster really. Besides, if I'm going to stop teaching Potions, I rather leave someone else qualified in my place. We do have the best OWL and NEWT scores and I wouldn't want to change that.'

'Piotr' again Severus simply reproduced the word without any kind of feeling behind it.

'Antokolsky, he went to Hogwarts in his seventh-year.'

Severus scowled and sneered at the boy's petulance.

'I know who he is', he drawled annoyed 'I never forget my Slytherins.'

That seemed to wipe the Golden Boy's smile, politeness and patience right out of his face, voice and eyes. _That is more like it_, Snape couldn't help but think perversely satisfied.

This dabble into an alternate universe – a very unlikely and distasteful one at that – was becoming far too disturbing and tiring. It made Severus feel out of depth, to not only see Potter after 15 years but also have him offering a job?

It was just too much for an old spy to take in one evening. But a mutinous Harry Potter? Now that made the world round again and the Potions Master could feel the ground under his feet again.

'But of course.' Potter offered in a monotone not unlike the imbecilic one he had used for 7 years in school.

Unsurprisingly, it was Brown's return that ended the torture session; with a big irritating grin and as his right arm flung itself over his old friend's shoulders.

'You actually managed to keep him here?' the American laughed shaking the Potter slightly, 'Harry, you're a miracle maker!'

'So have I been told repeatedly.' Snape sneered and turned on his heels, missing Yorick's stumped and Potter's blank expression.

The exhibition was most definitely, officially over.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

The wind made a branch tap insistently on the closed window but nothing would make Severus Snape move from where he was, regardless of how annoying it could be. As it happened, the former professor was sat comfortably in his favorite armchair, his legs crossed and his elbows were rested on each arm of it. His hair was down, falling like a curtain to his face as he leaned forward ever so lightly.

His long fingers were entwined before him, forming a small cocoon for the book he held before his eyes. He had been in that position for almost three hours and it was unlikely that he'd move anytime soon.

It wasn't every day that he indulged in reading in his living room, at least it wasn't very often that he read a potions' journal during his reading time in his living room.

Still, he had done it since he woke up. Two other rather lengthy looking volumes had been devoured in the morning, another two after – and during – his lunch and in that the moment he was merely beginning the fifth before dinner.

It was very unusual of him to go back to such a habit. Surely he hadn't stopped reading whatever that he could get his hands on, he was a researcher, that was what he did, but it had been an absurdly long time since he had allowed himself the pleasure of doing nothing else but think and breathe potions making all day.

He couldn't help but frown or sneer at some of the things the pretense brilliant potions makers were saying, some of the theories were too ludicrous and if he had any sense of humor when it came to his craft, he would have laughed at their imbecility. As it was, he was appalled to realize that people were following these incompetents.

So the Wizarding World goes through a war and everything was taken at face value?

They should have learned from that fool Lockhart.

As he pondered over the viability of mixing different species of wormwood for greater effect on the Burning Solve, something tickled the back of his head. Without stopping his reading, Severus tilted his head to the left slightly.

Someone had just been detected by his wards.

It didn't alarm him in the least as it had in the past; it only made him curious, besides he hadn't put any protective ward at his house. He had settled to knowing when his privacy would be interrupted and by whom. It wasn't as if he was hiding anymore, or that anyone would find him anyway.

There was only one person who could disrupt his wards in such a loud and ungraceful manner.

The ungraceful meant muggle.

The loud meant Yorick Brown.

After a mere mental count to three – that didn't disturb his reading in the least – his agent burst through his front door whistling and cheering him.

'How many times have I told you to not come in of your own free will?' Snape drawled surprisingly calm, not even bothering to look up or greet the younger man.

Following their old routine, Brown merely helped himself inside and shrugged off his coat, walking lazily towards Severus.

'How many times will I have to do whatever you don't like so you will realize that your prohibitions don't affect me in the least?' he asked kindly, not hiding his smirk as he jumped over the other's crossed legs to reach the couch at Severus' side.

Brown let himself fall on the couch in a very unflattering way, groaning as he did it and sprawling his body over it. As if any of that wasn't enough, he even dared to kick his artist's ankle lightly.

'Hi to you too, by the way' he sniggered when, at last, Snape sent a look his way. It was only a sideway glance but it was more than enough attention from someone like him and Yorick knew it very well.

After silently making it clear that the boy should not touch him in any way again, the ex-Death Eater turned back to his book.

'I thought you were going to let me alone for the next months, Brown.'

Even though he wasn't looking at the muggle, Snape was sure that Yorick had just shrugged as he made himself comfortable on Severus' couch. It was unbelievable the disrespect that Brown was able to display at anyone, without being abashed about it in the least.

Severus had to constantly check himself not to sneer at the younger man, and he rarely knew why he bothered to be irritated at him.

'I thought you'd like to know that the exhibition was a success and get your paycheck, you ungrateful bastard', Brown said airily before he added with a mocking strain in his voice '… and don't say _"Of course, it was a success"_, all right? Just take the check and smile.'

The Potions Master only raised an eyebrow at the allusion of himself smiling at a piece of paper and could hear his agent sniggering as he reached for the check in his jeans' pocket.

'Is that all?' Severus asked with evident desire to kick Yorick out. Not that it had ever fazed Brown in the past.

'All the pictures were sold.' the younger man replied pleasantly as he placed the check on Snape's coffee table. 'Every single one, did you know that? You are officially a sensation, Black - a very profitable sensation.'

The pleasure and amusement were clear in Brown's voice and killed any possibility of Severus looking over his way, even as he watched the boy reaching for his discarded journals.

'Don't touch that, Brown.'

Obviously the younger one ignored his warning as he usually did, moving closer to the pile of volumes and checking their covers after a title or anything he was familiar with. The older man was sure that even if Yorick opened the journals, he wouldn't be able to read a thing, nor would he if he stood right behind Snape and tried to look at the book on his hands from over Severus' shoulder.

Those were obviously enchanted books, and could only be read by wizards - and in all their details only by Potions Masters. It was the most ancient way to protect magic objects from curious muggle eyes and also a good way to keep the most revealing secrets between peers.

'That elder American rich woman you amused with your little Mr. Sarcastic Stand-Off, she bought two pictures', Brown continued nonchalantly, touching the first journal delicately. 'The accountant you were so charmingly ironic to took another three for each of his offices. He's pretty big it seems and your work will be in display in Milan, Paris and here in London.'

'Don't make me cut off your hand, Brown.'

By then Yorick knew when to take Severus' threats seriously. That deep, clear and cold tone meant that the older man was being awfully serious. It wasn't as if Brown had ever gone as far as testing but if his instincts were correct, and his instincts had saved his arse many times, he was wise to let it go without a fuss.

Especially when the aforementioned instincts set off all kinds of red alarms in his normally reckless brain.

He immediately pulled his hand away from his artist's literary mountain and sprawled himself on the couch again.

'Even that god-awful picture of that boy is gone.' the dimpled man reminisced, 'the most expensive one at that. I always thought that the one with that elderly couple in India did worth more… but it's your art. You name the price.'

'God-awful picture?' the raven-haired man allowed himself to question blankly.

Yorick nodded as if the photographer were looking at him and deliberately pretended not to understand the older man's implications.

'The one of that boy that you took right after he got beaten up… You know, the one I named _"Bully"_'. Then suddenly, mocking a worried tone, he sucked-up, 'I say _god-awful_ because the situation it illustrated was terrible, poor boy. The picture is beautiful, obviously.'

Snape merely shook his head at that feeble attempt of humor, fascinatingly able to belittle Brown with his natural disdain without missing one single word he was reading.

'Obviously', he drawled matter-of-factly. 'I told you someone would buy it.'

'_I_ wasn't so sure.' Yorick was bluntly sincere as always. 'In quality, it's brilliant, but it wasn't your usual style, I guess, but yeah, it's sold. I tried to convince Harry to take something else but he said it had to be that one - said it reminded him of something he had never forgotten', he shrugged 'I didn't get it.'

'Harry?' the second he made the question, Severus knew with acute certainty the answer.

'Yes, Harry Potter. That friend of mine from college - the one you were very unpleasant to.' Brown was always quick to infuse his sarcasm into a conversation, 'Oh sorry, I have to be more specific – the young man dressed in green.'

Snape ignored the jest completely, his eyes stopping their relentless movement over the pages for the first time since he sat in that armchair that morning.

'He bought the picture', he said plainly.

'Yes.' Brown nodded and sat up on the couch, crossing his legs much in his photographer's fashion. 'He was very adamant about it even. After you left, he stood there looking at it and chasing off anyone who showed any kind of interest.'

Unwilling to think anything, let alone say anything, on the subject to anyone, least of all his nosey agent; Severus opted for an uncommitted grunt.

'I see.'

The only good thing about Yorick Brown's visits was that they were always incredibly short. Surely not as short as Snape would have liked them to be – if he had a say in the matter there wouldn't be any visits at all – but at least they didn't last long enough to seriously infuriate him.

He was well aware the only reason it was so was that, even though the younger man tried to test his patience constantly, Brown knew very well that Snape didn't like to have his privacy disturbed, and in his own rude manner, he respected this dearly.

Besides, after a while Severus would automatically ignore him completely and that took all the fun of the situation for the agent, so he'd just got up and left as he did in that moment.

'Well', the agent slapped his thighs before apparently pushing himself up in one swift move as he showed himself the way out, 'I have to be off. If you get anything else worth my time, give me a call.'

'I'm going to change the lock.'

Yorick laughed as he put on his coat, knowing that the photographer would most likely do exactly that. He shrugged and waved with a big smile on his face, that even though Severus wasn't looking at, he knew was there.

'Yeah, yeah, Black. Talk to you later.'

It was a nugatory habit, and Severus knew it, but whenever he made a decision he went through with it. This disposition could never be mistaken for Gryffindor's recklessness – as Albus liked to say just to irritate him – because he only made a decision when every single detail, actions, reactions and possible problems had been studied.

Yet, as he turned around a corner he began to suspect that this was one of those rare moments when he did something with a less than perfect outcome.

Snape hadn't been to the Diagon Alley in two years, a logistically small period of time, but those scarce years were incredibly far too long for a Potions Master.

For a wizard.

True, he had hated every single moment he had spent there during his two years of "social rehabilitation" but those had been so excruciatingly scrutinized by literally every single one who cared to take a look at him and recognize him, that he couldn't have helped but resent the place somewhat deeply for a while.

Of course, that wasn't the sort of thing that would last. Only a couple of emotions really stuck with him, the others just burned bright for a while and then began to gradually dull out to his customary detachment.

Walking around that place again, after deliberately – and stubbornly – ignoring its existence for a total of 760 days, Severus felt that itch all over again. It wasn't the same he had felt when he worked there at that damn Mrs. Darko's apothecary. It was that curiosity, that anxiousness he had felt when he had first seen the wizarding alley.

The air was different there.

It wasn't that polluted poisonous fume the muggles were so accustomed to but a clear, chilling air filled by magic. The robes, the hats, the muggle clothes misuse and the eccentricity only added to the feeling of homecoming, the same with the scent of old parchment, ink and dust.

Magic… he hadn't missed it, for he still had it, but he surely missed living it as he did in that moment. Not as something new, out of ordinary or unpleasant. He missed not having to worry if anyone saw the way his coffee mug refilled itself or how his clothes would be dry in a mere blink of an eye.

And he sure as hell missed his robes.

Dressed in that moment in black trousers, white dress shirt – with only its collar showing out of the confines of a black sweater – and a black leather overcoat, Severus felt out of place somehow and that was something incredibly knew for him.

When he went to live in the Muggle World, he didn't feel out of place because he knew he didn't belong there and – thankfully – never would. But this, this was his world and they had taken the familiarity from him… by force.

What made his feelings even more obvious was the fact the shops were the same as they had been since unmemorable times. Truth be told, almost nothing really changed in the magical world. They were bettered, worsened and most definitely got stronger but they rarely ever changed.

'Snape?'

Unfortunately, the universe's inclination to throw unwanted surprises at him never did change too.

Severus's body stiffened at that amused and kind call. Even though he hated himself for it, he immediately recognized it. In his defense it had been merely three whole days since he last heard it but, still, he wished he could have simply erased it from his mind.

'By Salazar', he grunted in annoyance when he found the smirking face of Harry Potter staring at him.

The wretched boy was walking towards him, attracting several curious glances that instantly perked up in interest at the mention of his name. The length of Potter's imbecility was astonishing, really. Severus had always wondered if the Gryffindor actually did it on purpose or if it came naturally to him this ability to be – in one way or the other, and in several different levels – the main responsible for most unpleasant moments in the former professor's life.

Knowing the insufferable brat, Snape decided that both options were correct.

Potter didn't seem affected by the older man's damning grunt, his deep scowl and clear irritation. He simply walked right to him and stood before him with a polite smile on his face.

'How are you?' he asked as if they did it every day.

Apparently he didn't bother to hide his eyes in the Diagon Alley but Snape was quick to realize that the infamous scar was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly he remembered Potter's clear surprise at Snape recognizing him merely at the sight of his unusual dark green eyes.

Taking in consideration that they were standing on a sidewalk packed with magical creatures and people, and still no one seemed to look at him for more than a few seconds – more interested to stare at the former Death Eater and convicted murderer in the vicinity – Severus figured the boy hadn't lied.

For obvious reasons that didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it bothered him even more. He sneered and gave Potter a superior once over, curling his lips in clear contempt.

The blasted youth merely tilted his head to the side, completely unfazed and seemingly only waiting for a snarky remark. Since it was what he was expecting, the older man was more than pleased not to oblige.

'Is this one more lovely coincidence, Potter?' he raised a suspicious eyebrow.

Potter simply looked around himself, his smirk not widening but his eyes sparkling with amusement. He then turned to the older man and shrugged noncommittally.

'Apparently', he nodded lightly towards the path ahead of them. 'I'm on my way to the apothecary, have some things to buy for next term. We're almost left with no wolfsbane and moonstone, too.' He then added politely 'You?'

Snape stared at him in silence, his eyes shooting daggers and rooting his next disdainful comment.

'It has hardly ever been any of your business'.

Potter didn't seem to take offense at the venom in his voice and kept his delighted tone of voice as if the older man hadn't just pretty much told him to bugger off.

'Would you like to accompany me?', he offered in a tone that made Severus certain that the blasted twit would have done the same question to nearly every single one in that damn alley.

His eyes narrowed and he turned to leave, knowing that the rude departure lacked some of his slithering rudeness without his robes.

It should have been enough but naturally it wasn't. Potter had always been disgustingly dense, absolutely unable to understand his place in the world.

And that that place was far, far away from Severus Snape.

That was the only explanation for the Golden Boy to continue his rant as he followed him.

'I have improved my way around a cauldron but I'm terrible at buying ingredients.' Potter commented as if Snape gave a damn, 'Never knew how to precisely identify would be the best state to buy a hawk feather or an Armadillo lizard's tail for example.'

He stopped after only five steps and turned to answer just what the Boy Who Lived should do with a rather big and thick lizard's tail when a shrilling voice rang from his left, although from somewhere far down on his left.

'Snape? Is that you?', an old, very, very, very old woman nearly screamed in such a horrid voice that could only come from one person. 'Snape! It's me!'

Harry watched as the tall dark man's face twisted in something akin to uncontrolled agony and tragedy before he sighed a heartfelt "Damn it" under his breath and clearly forced himself to look down at the gray vision that was Mrs. Darko.

The woman almost didn't reach 5 feet, which made her an absurd contrast between the two equally tall men. Her lengthy straight hair was nearly white and her face so unnaturally wrinkled that it took one a long time to discern her features successfully.

Well, at least it did with most people but Snape seemed to be quite unwillingly familiar to that yellowish face and eyes.

'Severus!' she clapped excited, making the mentioned man wince slightly at her happiness. 'It's been too long! How are you?'

Snape's scowl was unwavering, deep and threatening, but that had never stopped Mrs. Darko before. In some ways, the only reason why he didn't simply say something extremely rude to her was because the damn woman had been the only one to offer him a shelter and a job when he needed it the most.

She knew him since he was a little boy who 'wanted a decent amount of hellebore of the best quality' and no, he sure didn't want to tell her why someone so little would like such a thing. Severus took a deep breath, focusing on his suddenly immense resentment that Potter was still there, drinking in every single word that was uttered.

Nosey bugger.

'Bloody fine, Mrs. Darko', was certainly the politest answer he could muster.

'Good!' the elder lady's smile was so big and eager that almost made him nauseated. 'I was talking about you the other day! You know Crabbe and Goyle?' she asked before her face wrinkled even more as she added without much conviction and not giving either men the chance to answer the question.

'Terrible casualties but necessary I'd say… but their sons! They are in St. Mungos, do you know? Not both of them, mind. The Crabbe boy is there and the Goyle one's in Azkaban!'

Her voice got higher and higher as her story progressed; making Snape wish desperately to cause Potter a lot of pain for the boy's sincere smile was only spurring the damn woman on and on.

'Oh, oh! Don't worry!' she waved her hand theatrically as if Severus frown meant something other than displeasure. 'One is the Chief of Security and the other is the Head Wizarding Guard.'

At that her smile wavered slightly as she blushed deeply '...but, erm, you knew that, didn't you? When he was promoted you were still… I-well, but that's past, isn't it?'

She patted his arm in that irksome habit she had picked on during the time he had worked in her shop. She also would poke him whenever she was saying something, as though she thought that he wasn't hearing a word she was saying even though she screamed more than spoke.

Severus thought that his irritation might have been so palpable that before he could either curse the woman – or strangle her – for gathering a small whispering group of people around them, Potter found fit to interfere.

'Mrs. Darko?' he asked softly.

The woman's eyes swam over his face, not stopping to focus on any particular inch of flesh before they settled on his eyes and she smiled sweetly at him.

'Yes, dear?' she cooed adoringly.

Snape felt like vomiting.

And he would have, if Potter hadn't shocked him out of his body with one simple gesture as he talked to the deluded woman.

'We were on our way to some shopping, if you don't mind I am a bit late as it is', the bloody boy's eyes seemed to grow in honest regret at the prospect of not being able to listen to her.

But the ex-Death Eater didn't see it because he couldn't breathe through his indignation.

'Oh.' Mrs. Darko sounded deeply disheartened, her eyes dancing over to Snape but taking in consideration that she could never truly look at his face when they were both standing –thanks to his incredibly long hair and the fact that he rarely bothered to look down at her -, she merely glimpsed the two hands at his side before she blushed scarlet again.

'OH! Sure, sure! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to get in your... way ...you most certainly are doing something rather important.' She winked in the general direction of her former employee, 'I am very sorry! It was very good to see you again, Severus!'

With that she haltingly moved away and out of view. It was all the older man needed to snap out of his confusion-induced lethargy and pull his whole body away from Potter's as if he had been whipped into motion.

Severus glowered at the surprised face before him, those blasted green eyes inquiringly and yet amused by his actions. Self-righteousness kicked right in and fueled his anger.

'Are you out of your bloody mind?' he hissed.

At the tone of Snape's voice, Harry frowned in reaction to his sudden foul mood. Not that the older man had been in a good mood before but that didn't mean that he could take his frustration out on Harry when he hadn't done a thing to the git.

'What?' the Gryffindor demanded annoyed.

'Do you know what this public display looked like for that demented woman?' Snape demanded, taking the other man by surprise.

Yet again.

'Public display?' Harry asked slowly.

'You were bloody holding my hand, Potter!'

Snape watched as the boy's eyes widened but he didn't see any hint of the alarm he had felt as soon as the Golden Boy's fingers closed around his fisted hand, in an appallingly reassuring and intimate way.

No one touched him without permission, and he had been stumped at Potter's audacity, so much so that he had been absolutely frozen in shock. What only took him out of that comatose was the outrageous conclusion Mrs. Darko had quite clearly got to.

He wasn't expecting an apology, and if the younger one started to stutter and babble like an idiot Severus would most surely hex him.

'Oh. Didn't even notice.' Potter gasped softly, looking gingerly at his own hand with a curious frown on his face before he blinked repeatedly and shook his head lightly, looking up at the Potions Master with the same easiness he had before looking devastatingly confused for a second.

'Well, don't worry. It did send her away, didn't it? So tell me, what should I look for when picking the best kind of hawk feather?'

Absolutely unjustified and it made him suspect that he probably had been cast an Imperio and hadn't noticed it yet because Severus was actually still in the company of Harry Bloody Potter. The damn boy didn't take the hint earlier, as he hadn't taken the hint years before and continued to follow Snape around Diagon Alley.

Surely the younger man was saying something, many things for that matter, but Snape couldn't be bothered to pay attention at one single word. Severus had threatened, he had barked and ordered the other to get the fuck out of his face and never come back but it was to no effect. In every turn, there was Potter with his insufferable smile.

The fact that there were only 3 apothecaries in the alley was completely irrelevant to Severus, who was firmly certain that Potter had set out to haunt him.

The worse kind of haunting even, the living kind.

He could simply turn and leave but that would mean he was bailing and he would never give Harry Potter that satisfaction. So he merely sneered and acknowledged the boy's stupidity whenever he saw necessary, which was pretty much every single time they encountered each other.

'I am shocked to know you even got your NEWTs, Potter. Every 5 years old knows that the smoothest feathers are the better ones to manipulate. If your student's scores are the highest I dread to think of who the other professors are', he had been forced to say as the incompetent was about to buy the worse feathers they had seen all day, without a moment of hesitance.

At another time, in another apothecary, Snape couldn't help but curl his lip without sending Potter one single look as he examined some bat's eyes.

'The larger tails are for immediate effect, you idiot, and the thickest scales are for lasting results. Tell me, Potter, if you're the Professor, who's actually teaching these children?'

As he walked around the establishment, Severus was more than just annoyed at seeing Potter walking towards him with his arms already full of bags with various ingredients.

'Thank you, Pro—Snape.' As if in an after though the younger man corrected himself, although the main responsible for it had been the glare sent his way. 'I always get these wrong.'

Severus didn't even bother to respond as he pointed at one of the bags.

'The Wolfsbane, is it for Lupin?'

Severus was pleased to know that he had just caught Potter off guard, before the idiotic smile was back on place.

'It is for him, too.' He answered solicitously, 'I'm making him the potion, now. Tonks could never do it properly, so I took it upon myself.'

Snape snorted and turned to reach what looked like a fairly well-kept shark's liver, but not before he commented in an acidly voice loud enough for the youth to hear him. It wasn't really needed for Potter was right at his heels.

'Nymphadora could never brew anything worth a damn. She got a Dreadful in her OWLs, and I was being condescending with her test.'

Potter chuckled deeply but the older man didn't look at him.

'Yes, she told me that', he shrugged, '...but they had to make do for a while.'

Snape didn't respond for a great while, momentarily entranced by some begonias' leaves he had seen out of the corner of his eyes, as Potter studied some shrivelfigs.

When a considerable amount of time ticked by, he was pulled out of the depths of his thoughts by the Potions Master's seemingly uninterested question.

'But you said "too".'

'Yes.' Harry smiled and looked up from the shrivelfigs only to find the back of Snape's head, 'One of our students was bitten during the war. He's the best in my class too, obviously because of the primary motivation, but he's also got a natural inclination.'

'I see', was what the other replied in an absentminded way. It was all Harry needed to hammer a particular nail that had been bothering him greatly for days.

'I'm still looking.' He said carelessly and added unnecessarily, 'For someone for the job.'

After so many years with muggles, Severus had come around the peculiar tactic of leading the conversation whenever it got to a path he didn't care about or enjoy. It wasn't as satisfying as simply barking people quiet but it was handy whenever he talked to people and he didn't even feel motivated to be obnoxious.

Those were rare moments, when the instinctive pleasure of being a jerk to people didn't entice him, but they existed. It happened mostly when he was focused on something else entirely, something far more pleasing, such as the prospect of buying that vial of Nile's water so he could continue his testing on the Dissolution Potion.

'Why are you leaving?'

The stumped silence didn't affect Snape satisfactorily as it would any other time because in reality he wasn't really conscious of what he was talking about or to whom.

It had always been a bad trait of his, the one of getting so lost in his own plans and thoughts, whenever he had sudden insights about his work. He used to have a lot of problem with it during his school days or staff meetings.

Back in the day, McGonagall would deliberately ask him something about the charm she had been explaining for over 45 minutes while he had been too busy writing down an epiphany.

Or Dumbledore would entrust him to summarize the most important topics that had been discussed about the changes in the syllabus for the new school year on the school's records, when Severus had spent the entire 5 hours cataloguing the different beetle species needed to successfully brew an improved version of the Gregory's Unctuous Unction.

Bloody Gryffindors.

'I'm not leaving', the answer came after a while '...it's only that our Dark Arts' teacher will leave and Piotr wants me to fill his place. I just can't teach both subjects, but at this pace, I'll only get someone to take care of DA. I can't find anyone I trust to take Potions.'

'Dark Arts?'

By the firmer and impatient tone of the voice, Harry was sure his former teacher was again very aware of his presence.

'Well, we don't really have a need to defend ourselves against it, do we? Besides, the more we know about it, the easier it is to protect ourselves from it.'

'I'm certain that is an opinion shared by our illustrious Ministry or Magic.' Snape scorned as he turned to look at the brat.

He was in time to catch the fleeting shadow that crossed Potter's face before the young man schooled his features, he shrugged uninterestedly.

'It's not like the Ministry has any say in any of it. It's not knowledge that leads to evil; it's the thirst for it that brings out the worse in people.'

Severus let the comment slide.

'Who was the former teacher?'

Again the hesitation, but this time the ex-Death Eater couldn't put it in any patter. Potter let his eyes travel the length of his own body and hands before he raised them to meet onyx suspicious eyes. He smiled but Severus knew with burning certainty that that smile was the first that Potter had sent his way to deliberately irritate him, as a diversion.

'Blaise Zabini.'

'Blaise Zabini.' he couldn't help but arch an eyebrow.

'Yes', the other chuckled '...a very good one in fact, thanks to him one of ours was the Triwizard Tournament ultimate champion last year.'

Harry saw the way Snape's whole demeanor towards their conversation changed. Suddenly he knew that he had the Potions Master's full attention, even though the impatient scowl was firmly in place. _"I never forget my Slytherins"_ echoed in his head.

'I see.' Snape replied, missing the way the other man's eyes narrowed and darkened as he turned his back to romance the Nile's vial, 'Why is Prof. Zabini leaving?'

'Personal reasons'.

The green-eyed man's flat and cool tone fell on death ears, for Snape one merely registered his words.

'What about Miss Greengrass, she has always been rather decent.'

'Daphne's already in Beauxbatons.'

The once Slytherin Head of House let out a hum as reply, his face impassive and his eyes glued to the other ingredients on the shelf but his hand did spasm possessively around the vial. Harry waited for what was to come, working the muscles of his jaw and trying with all his might not to let his fist curl at his side.

Snape's next question disarmed him completely though.

'Miss Granger?' he asked obviously not invested in the answer.

'Mrs. Weasley', Potter said significantly, trying to gauge a reaction, but the older man didn't give him any, at least that was what Harry thought because he didn't see the unsurprised raised eyebrow, '...is busy with her job in the Ministry. All the same, she took a few months off because of the pregnancy.'

'Young Miss Weasley?' the same uninterested tone.

'Ginny would help readily', the youth answered, apparently not able to conceal his kindness. 'If she weren't committed with St. Mungos- she's the Head Healer.' he added unnecessarily.

'Mister Longbottom?'

Again Harry started.

But quickly recovered.

'Neville?' he questioned the obvious and hated himself for it a second later, so he rushed to address his answer. 'Well, he could ...with his amazing qualifications. He got the second highest NEWTs in our year. Apparently his former academic failure was due to the nerves.'

Severus only sniffed contemptuously.

'Mister Longbottom had always had an acute interest and natural inclination for dealing with herbs that added to a minimum aptitude for Potions, would have turned him into an adequate craftsman', was all he would say on the matter as he reached for some frog's eyes.

'True.' Harry said carefully, 'Still, Neville is in Hogwarts. Herbology is his crack, always has been, Luna was an option but she's in Hogwarts, too'. Then he continued more to himself than anything, 'I could ask Ron, but with the new Quidditch season, and Hermione's pregnancy, it'd be impossible.'

'Mr. Weasley?' Severus asked, with that tone that often made people want to hex him. 'He's never had anything remotely akin to talent for Potions.'

'The same could have been said about Neville and me.' Harry said politely.

'Mr. Longbottom just needed to sharpen his focus. In your particular case I still refuse to believe that someone who can't even pick hawk feathers is of any worth of calling themselves a professor and Mr. Weasley could never chop a herb correctly.'

'Too true'. Potter chuckled against all odds, 'Hermione was constantly telling him but, like I said, he wouldn't be able to help, even if I asked.'

That was when a loud group entered the apothecary, all of them carrying several Chudley Cannons' flags. They all had the team's shirts and badges on, and were enchanting a melody that Snape was pretty sure he had heard before. He glared at them, and was momentarily amused by the red wigs they wore and the name on their shirts.

The number one covered half of the front of the shirts and when the owner kicked them out, the older man saw a frighteningly familiar face sticking its tongue at him. Severus raised his eyebrow and avoided looking over at the Boy Who Lived who most definitely sported a very punch-able grin.

'Mr. Weasley has endeavoured to succeed in the great real of Quidditch, I gather', Snape commented sarcastically.

'Quite so', Harry didn't even bother to chuckle, his amusement clear in his laughing voice '...he's in the national team for 8 years straight, now. The youngest Keeper in centuries.'

'No one who had seen him playing at school would have thought that he would get so far.' Snape snorted.

'Same problem Neville had.' Potter was quick to defend his best friend, 'Ron has always been quite intense; couldn't keep his wits together under pressure. At least not when my and Hermione's life weren't at stake, or when he wasn't playing chess, but once he learned to trust himself more, he was able to show his talent.'

The last bit was more of a personal anecdote than anything else and as he didn't care one way or the other, Severus simply dismissed it. Instead he opted to do one last relevant question.

'What about Miss Harper?'

'Neci.' the tone was low and kind, but it still had a tiny bit of suspicion. Snape had the feeling that Potter was aware that his question had only meant to throw him, 'I don't even bother her with something like this. She's got enough trouble with the Ministry, as it is. She would come to me the second I called her though but she's needed somewhere else'

'Prof. Potter?'

Both men turned around to that shy and absurdly polite murmur. The Potions Master raised his eyebrow in question at the impertinence as Potter's eyes grew in pleasure and recognition.

The boy was about only a few inches shorter than them. His eyes were a deep shade of amber, his hair dark blond and curly, long enough to fall over his eyes. He was maybe too thin, or maybe too tall, Severus couldn't be sure, still there was something to his physique that would make Molly Weasley stuff him with food and Pomfrey drown him in Strengthening Potion.

He looked warily over at Snape, his nervous glance returning to Potter constantly as he tried fiercely to get his attention and reassurance. The disgusting smile the boy was presented with apparently did the job for he immediately relaxed visibly.

'Ernest!' the pleasure was almost exaggerated, as Potter waved for the boy to come closer.

'How are you, Professor?' the boy blushed lightly but asked unusually formally.

'I'm good, Ernest.' Potter obviously didn't notice the boy's discomfort and hugged him tightly, causing his blush to deepen. 'And you?'

The younger one smiled softly and shrugged as it was wont of someone his age. He sent a nervous and bashful glance over at the frowning figure of the Potions Master and then looked over at Potter again.

Something in the boy's face made Snape analyze him more critically. Had it been recognition?

'I'm all right, sir', the one called Ernest replied with an overly calm and controlled voice 'Came to buy more wolfsbane.'

'Right!' Harry chuckled and smiled blindingly 'Me too! Did you manage it on your own?'

This time the adolescent allowed himself to give the Golden Boy a wide and proud smile. The change was absurdly drastic in comparison to his previously restrained demeanor.

'Pretty much.' He nodded eagerly, 'I finally got the dill seed's measure correctly.'

'Very good', Potter exclaimed and patted the boy's shoulder, his left hand fluidly moving to cover Hamilton's neck as the boy went crimson red '...I told you you'd get it right.'

Being the Slytherin he was, Severus quickly understood the implications of those words. He had indulged in watching silently, something he had become somewhat of a master at, but his professor's instincts spoke louder and he simply had to interrupt that rather curious interaction between the two young men.

'Do you let this boy brew a Wolfsbane Potion on his own, Potter?'

The prat's hesitation only assured Severus that his suspicions weren't unfounded. So he was right, unsurprisingly so. Still, something in Potter's eyes told him that his former student was glad that Severus hadn't made all of his conclusions obvious.

'Well, he did watch me do it for two years and has been helping me for another three...so yes.' The brat said carefully, his sudden bashfulness didn't fool Snape though. It was clear that he was trying to gain time, but what for, the ex-Death Eater hadn't figured it out yet.

Glancing from the older to the younger man before him, Harry smiled apologetically. 'I'm sorry. Ernest, this is the Potions Master Severus Snape...Mr. Snape, this is the student I told you about, Ernest Hamilton.'

The boy immediately offered his hand to him after the Golden Boy's introduction, his eyes widened ever so lightly and Severus had the very unpleasant certainty that the boy had heard an awful lot about him.

Snape had a pretty good idea of the kind of things he'd probably heard, so that was why he was so utterly surprised with the younger one's words and the clear awe in his voice.

'Nice to meet you, Master Snape' His handshake was sure and eager, 'Professor Potter told me great things about you, sir.'

Severus couldn't help but snort derisively.

'Somehow I doubt that, Mr. Hamilton, but you're attempt has been duly noted.'

Harry saw the way Ernest felt absolutely uncomfortable and intimidated by Snape's presence, being drawled at by the older man wasn't something people could easily not be affected by.

So the way the boy looked over at him, trying to apologize for any possible faux-pas and asking silently for a way to fix the situation made Harry slid his hand to over Ernest's shoulder and squeezed in reassurance.

'Don't be harsh on the boy, Snape', he said kindly with a hint of warning in his tone, which earned him a raised eyebrow '...he's being sincere.'

The two of them engaged themselves in a staring contest: Severus, unable to believe what the boy had said; and Potter, with an amused challenge blazing in his green orbs.

'You were the one who developed the Dreamless Potion, were you not, Professor?' Hamilton's question pierced the tension impudently and loud as his age requested.

'Yes, I did, Mr. Hamilton'. Severus answered, wary of the adolescent's excitement, his rebuke came as an afterthought 'I'm not a professor anymore, though.'

The teenager's eyes widened even more, his admiration and surprise etched in his body language as he looked from the incompetent he called a professor to the Potions Master repeatedly.

Apparently the boy was barely restraining himself from saying something and he only really did open his mouth to address Severus' comments and reply after Potter gave him one firm and calming nod.

'That's my favorite potion to make, sir', the comment all but burst its way out of Ernest's mouth, making Harry chuckle lightly at Snape's suspicious frown.

'It's incredibly complex, but once you find the right way to balance the ingredients - it's really amazing', the boy added blushing, noticing he had almost started babbling.

Before Severus could cut the boy with his skepticism and sarcasm, Potter seized the momentary silence that fell between the other two.

'Ernest here brew his first Dreamless Potion at the end of the last term, isn't that right?'

'What year are you in, Mr. Hamilton?'

It clearly had been years since Snape last could talk to a potions student. Hell, it was probably almost a decade since the older man could even talk about potions at all.

'Fifth, sir.'

'You're a fifth-year and already can brew a Dreamless Potion.'

'Well', he looked over at Potter, turning crimson red rather quickly again '...I can try, sir. I only got it right once so far.'

The pleasure in his voice and eyes were alarming and Severus was very aware of that but he couldn't help it but be impressed. It had taken him years to develop the Dreamless Potion; its level of complexity was higher than most complicated potions ever created and a fifth-year had got it right? The fact that the boy had achieved success once, regardless of how many tries he had made – it was absolutely mind-blowing.

Severus himself had been able to get a NEWT's level potion right when he had been in his fourth-year. He'd spent almost two years testing before he completed it, but that wasn't relevant. Potter had a jewel in his hands, and all Snape could do was hope that the imbecilic prat knew what he was doing and didn't destroy that boy's talent.

'That's highly impressive, Mr. Hamilton', he said noncommittally.

'Thank you, sir' was the boy's overwhelmed answer.

'Do you brew your own potions?'

Hamilton looked nervously at Potter, clearly not knowing what to say, or maybe how to say it. By the looks of it, the boy had no idea that Severus was aware of his condition and he was trying to find out from Potter if he should assume that he did.

Snape didn't blame the boy. If one thought of the way most Wizarding World saw and treated any dark creature, or wizards who had any kind of relationship with them, the student would have been a fool to expose himself lightly. It only proved that Mr. Hamilton wasn't a complete dunderhead as Severus had been so ready to assume for the mere fact that the adolescent knew and liked Harry Potter.

After a shared meaningful look, Ernest seemed to nod imperceptibly and turned to the former professor with a set look on his face.

'Yes, sir', he said with false confidence. 'Prof. Potter made some slight modification to the original recipe and now the potion is adapted to my body's chemicals'. Hamilton looked lost for a few seconds before he was in control of himself again, 'It doesn't only keep me rather...sane... but it also stalls the transformation, and it doesn't hurt as much.'

Severus snapped his eyes from the boy to the hateful green gaze that had been studying him relentlessly.

'It wasn't only my doing, Ernest here helped me a lot', Snape was terrified for a moment that Potter would ruffle Hamilton's hair '...and it basically happened by accident.'

'I see', he drawled blankly '...even your incompetence makes you successful, how absolutely unsurprising.'

Again Ernest was at loss, feeling trapped in that bubble of animosity that had formed around the two men. That was most definitely the first time he had seen Prof. Potter so fiercely controlled and tense, even though he was smiling politely, Hamilton could sense his teacher's distress.

As for the Potions Master, his displeasure was more than clear on his face and demeanor and he didn't even try to hide it. In fact, while Harry Potter tried with all his might to appear calm and centered, Severus Snape, Hamilton realized, wasn't bothering in the least to conceal the fact that he didn't like the younger man.

That was why Ernest pushed his dark blond curls out of his eyes, unnerved now by both the men's silent duel and his hair's insistent predicament. He had to get them out of that immature behavior before they started to act upon their challenge.

Remembering everything Prof. Potter had told him about his relationship with Master Snape, Ernest knew that a real confrontation was bound to happen.

'Prof. Zabini will really leave, Professor?'

Harry blinked repeatedly, his hand tensing ever so lightly on the boy's shoulders but neither one of them acknowledged the act.

'Yes, Ernest', he said with a foreign tone that his student knew he sometimes adopted whenever he was talking about a particular subject he didn't want to talk about more than necessary '...unfortunately he will.'

Knowingly the boy merely focused on a rather more important part of the conversation, and the question he had wanted to ask ever since he knew of his Dark Art's professor sudden departure from Durmstrang.

'But you will stay, right?' the boy's eyes grew round and clear. Severus found breathtaking to see the amount of adoration the student clearly felt towards bloody Potter.

'Yes, I will'. Harry smiled and chuckled throatily 'I don't know what I'll teach yet, but I will stay.'

Ernest's relief was almost palpable but something told Snape that the Boy Who Lived had not noticed a thing.

'All right', he smiled faintly before he looked down at the watch he had on his wrist and turned to the Potions Master, '...well, I have to go now. It was a pleasure and an honor to meet you, sir. I hope to see you again.'

Harry watched as the old greasy git took Ernest Hamilton's offering hand without hesitance, for the second time that day. He had never seen the bastard act as if the contact wasn't decidedly unwelcome.

'The pleasure and honor were solemnly mine, Mr. Hamilton' was the slow, and admittedly not at all contemptuous, drawl. 'I hope you will nurture this unusual and refreshing interest in potions.'

'Thank you, sir.' The boy blushed deeply again, 'Good bye, Prof. Potter. I'll see you next term.'

'Sure thing, Ernest', this time, Harry did ruffled the boy's hair, earning a glare and scowl, but Ernest wasn't really affected by it in the least '...take good care of yourself till then.'

The youngster nodded towards them and Snape appreciated his good manners immensely. Harry had seen the appreciation very well, even though the older man was quick to focus back on the vial that had never left his hand, before he resumed his study of the items on the shelves.

'As it is, you are the living proof of an old saying, Potter.' Was the comment he heard after Ernest Hamilton was long gone and an uncomfortable silence had fallen between them.

It seemed they both had suddenly realized that the interaction they were having until the boy's arrival was absolutely surreal and shouldn't have even happened in the first place.

'Really?' he grinned curiously, 'Which one?'

'_The students make the teachers'_ Severus drawled lazily. 'Mr. Hamilton seems to be a very gifted young man; it's just absolutely disheartening to know that he has little chance of enhancing such a beautiful craft, with an excuse of professor such as yourself.'

The former student was momentarily too surprised to even be offended, let alone answer the verbal abuse. That was most definitely the first time in all his life that he had heard the greasy git compliment anyone who wasn't a Slytherin.

And Draco Malfoy.

'I agree with you completely, Professor.' Potter nodded, not sounding as annoyed as Severus had expected him to, 'Ernest needs a good tutor, someone who can guide him properly-mold his eager little mind. Unfortunately I'm not the one with qualified knowledge and competence to do so and I simply can't find anyone else who can.'

That was all it took Snape to still his focused perusal of the shelves. With one stubborn scowl, he targeted his full attention on the hated face of Harry Potter. The insufferable boy dared to meet his stare openly and calmly.

'Was that one of your little coincidences, Potter?' he demanded annoyed at the boy's smirk, before he added, 'Because it's not going to work.'

'What?' the younger man chuckled slightly, as if impressed with his conspiracy theory. Obviously he did not convince Snape in the least, which made the former Death Eater's eyes narrow to slits, 'I have absolutely no idea of what you're talking about, Professor.'

'I am not a professor anymore, Potter', he barked impatiently.

'Oh, sure, I'm sorry.' Potter said not sounding sorry at all. 'You are a renowned muggle photographer now – very talented indeed. So tell me, when will your next exhibition happen? I'd love to receive an invitation for it, as well.'

Severus didn't even bother to respond; he merely glared at Potter and disapparated.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

****

He crouched and brought the camera to his eyes, adjusting the lenses. Severus had spent the whole day photographing strangers. He still had to decide where he'd go, several options and little motivation. Snape was the type of artist that needed a theme, he needed an inspiration and London wasn't giving him any.

Normally he would leave, try to find something worth registering out there in the world. But this time he didn't even know where he wanted to go in search of this insight. He had been at so many places, and yet he hadn't been anywhere.

Despite of the social vibe of his last work, Severus didn't want to be known for it. He had to admit that he had a good hand to pinpoint suffering and sorrow but he wouldn't be able to know why.

One of his favorite exercises was just hang around at a public place and watch the scenario, looking, searching and finding. A distressed couple, a crying baby, a whining dog or fighting siblings. Also a lonesome elder man, a lost little girl and a thoughtful young man.

It was true; Snape was to agony and general sadness what gold was to Goblins. It was hard to say if one attracted the other or if one was the cause of the other, the thing was that once you found Severus taking photos, there was most certainly gloom about.

At that particular moment he was busy on his thoughtful young man. Sat with his back against one of the most beautiful trees at Greenwich Park, one leg bent and the other stretched. One of his arms was supported over his bent knee, and the other was laid at his side, his hand holding an ancient looking book. He had his eyes concealed by dark shades and he was wearing dark washed jeans, obviously tad big for him, a white wife-beater and a red and green tattersall flannel shirt.

The sleeves of the shirt were folded to his elbows. His head was leaned back, showing a long, pale, albeit strong, neck. The angle made the man look incredibly thin, his features weren't absolutely discernible from afar and setting the lens, Severus realized that even though the nose before him was slightly crooked to the left and the bottom lip bore a faint scar – enhanced by the contrast of pale skin and the sunlight – the young man looked very common and ordinary.

Perfect, exactly the type of character he liked for his photos. The hair was loose, falling forward like one messy black curtain as it flew about the boy's face with the wind. The strands couldn't reach much longer than his shoulders and also didn't look very even. The complete opposite to Snape's own shoulder blades' lengthened and methodically cut raven hair that was currently gathered at the back of his head by an infamous leather thread.

Severus had never bothered with his hair before; he only kept it long because he had never had it short. Since he could remember his hair had always reached his shoulders and usually covered most of his face, hiding his eyes from view. When he was right off Hogwarts, and thanks to several never mentioned events, he got over this habit a bit and his hair found its greasy controlled place at each side of his face.

When everything had an end, he simply didn't really think about any of it. He wanted to leave a lot of things behind, but he didn't have the heart or desire to cut his hair. It was a part of him, not only his stance and personality, but also most of his whole being. In fact, it affected directly his magic. One of the worse moments he had had back at Azkaban, had been his first month when they had shaved his head bold.

Dumbledore used to tease him, telling him that he was a temperamental in essence and his attachment to his hair was a proof of that. He only used to sneer and say something along the lines of "Look who's talking" and changed the subject. The old man also had hinted more than once that this aesthetic preoccupation was what really brought him and Draco Malfoy close.

Draco.

No matter how hard he tried, Severus would forever believe he had failed the boy. Even with everything he had done, everything he had protected Lucius' son from – all the things Malfoy should had kept the boy as distant from as humanly possible – he would forever know that he had lapsed.

Snape scowled and tightened his hold on the camera. He had to take that bloody shot fast, before his muse moved or sensed that someone was looking at him. He'd have time for his gut-clutching guilt towards Draco later.

One, two, three, four and five.

The first couple to be sure he had gotten that position right, and the others just to capture the tiny movements that followed. The elbow at the knee moved to enable the free hand to flip a page, then the hand found it's way to the young face, finally long manly fingers pushed a few strands of hair out of the face as the other fingers managed to pull the shades down the crooked nose.

The last shot made Severus tremble.

It was the stricken and yet oddly peaceful face of a young man, with dark rings under his eyes, incredibly pronounced cheekbones and blazing green eyes. He was looking directly at the camera, his eyes unusually wise and amused, old and young. The reddish glow coming from the setting sun, making every single scar over that face visible – including the biggest one in shape of a lighting-bolt on the middle of the boy's forehead.

Snape jerked the camera from his face with violence. It couldn't be possible. He was trembling still, but he wouldn't be able to say if it was indignation, hatred, or surprise that made him shake so fiercely.

Probably all the above.

He watched as Potter got on his feet in one fluid movement that contrasted with his former careless position. On their own accord, Severus' older legs forced him to stand just as quickly and gracefully, and then retreated with all the dignity and speed he could muster.

It wasn't possible, or probable.

That was the third time that Potter was invading his privacy, the third time in one lousy week. Surely it was too horrible to fathom that his karma was so fucked up that his agent had known Harry Bloody Potter before, but it was reasonable. Snape had been locked up for years, with no contact whatsoever with the exterior world.

And he simply never gave a rat's arse about what the Golden Boy would ever do with his life anyway.

So he could accept the fact that the universe decided to trick him with that terrible little joke.

The whole Diagon Alley incident was also hard to explain but not impossible. It had been his fault mostly, after seeing Potter he had – what? Missed? Urged? Longed?

There was no word to really say why he had broken years of self-imposed exile. It had been plain bad luck that led him there at the same day and hour Potter had. In reality, he didn't resent the whole thing greatly and mostly because he had been able to get in an apothecary as a customer – or at least accompanying a customer – for the first time in almost one decade. And there was always the young Mr. Hamilton acquaintance, something he had quite enjoyed actually.

Obviously Potter's presence ruined what would otherwise be a very pleasant day but that he could easily erase from his mind. Snape had always been incredibly selective, like any other worthy Slytherin, and he could very much delete from his memory the Golden Boy's presence.

But that was too much.

It was bloody Sunday, summer afternoon and the Greenwich Park was absolutely packed with people all ages, all races and pasts. It was unbelievable that he'd find the damn boy there and least of all choose him as his muse.

Someone was trying really hard to make his life a bloody hell.

'Snape!' Harry shouted, pushing his way through people and mumbling his heartfelt apologies in between 'Wait! Snape!'

If anything, the name made him loathe the boy more than he had ever hated anyone in his whole life. Of course, if Potter had been shouting his first name, Severus would have hexed him but he'd have kept going. If he had tried to make a joke and scream his dogfather's surname – knowing that he had taken it – he would have simply ignored the brat and hailed a cab.

If the wretched idiot had yelled his mother's maiden name, there was no knowing what Severus would do to him.

But it certainly would be something painful, bloody, irreversible and quite Unforgivable before he went home, without one single backward glance.

Yet, the brat was bellowing his name. His birth given surname. _His_. That made him almost insane with the amount of aggression and hostility that suddenly reddened his vision and stalled his proud trotting, so he could turn around and look Potter in the eyes.

Harry started at the look on Snape's face. After so many years, he still couldn't get used to the fact that he was just as tall as his former professor. It was different from when he simply noticed one day that he didn't have to be on the tip of his toes to reach the highest shelf at the library. Or when he actually was the one who picked up the special dishes Mrs. Weasley kept on top of the cupboard at the Burrow so Fred and George wouldn't throw them as if they were discs.

Or when he almost opened his head as he banged it rather forcefully on the bloody shower. He did realize he didn't need to look up quite as much as he used to when he was younger to talk to Charlie or Dean (who had pretty much reached 6 feet at the mere age of 15, ensnaring the second place as the taller one at school. He only missed it for Ron), but his growing process was slow to come.

In reality Harry had only really had a decent growth-spurt when he was 18, until then he did grow exponentially but in a very moderate manner. Unlike Neville, Blaise, Ernie Macmillan and Draco Malfoy.

To his everlasting glory he had forever missed the shorty title because of Seamus, who had never really had a decent growth spurt. Not even at the age of 18. But in his defense, Finnigan had also been the first Gryffindor boy their year to ever get laid, so in their own rules, he was more than excused for not being exceptionally tall.

Still, in that moment Harry was brutally aware of how much things had changed. Severus Snape used to be the tallest man he had ever known; tall, imposing, threatening and much of a bastard. He always figured that once he was a grown up – which was his condition – the looks of the Potions Master would lose much of it's dark effect.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Standing rock still, tense and yet burning with obvious hatred, Severus Snape was still tall, imposing, threatening and much of a bastard.

Even if they were literally looking into each other's eyes.

Those obsidian orbs were as bottomless as he had ever thought they were, and the glare only intensified if you looked at it full force as he did in that moment. It wasn't just the "I despise you, get out of my sight, Potter" glare he had grown up with.

It was something darker, stronger and crueler.

Much on the same fashion of the bark that quickly followed the silent threat.

'Shut the hell up, Potter!'

Severus saw the way the boy looked at him with a very guarded expression on his face, his eyes blank but not totally devoid of any feeling, as they had been at the gallery for one second. That was good; it got him the opportunity to get back at Potter for that moment of weakness.

'I...' Harry shook his head as if he was trying to clear it, his voice slow and firm, as if the older man was a wild animal ready to rip him apart if he moved brusquely. What obviously wasn't very far from the truth 'I thought you hadn't heard me... I've been shouting for about two blocks and-'

'And you simply couldn't understand' the other cut him ruthlessly, his voice nothing more than a hiss 'the fact that I was ignoring you for all its worth so your feeble mind advised you to holler my long forsaken last name in attempt to actually make me stop so you could ask me why the bloody hell I don't want to talk to you, Potter?'

For some reason, Harry grinned but he immediately knew that was a very wrong thing to do, so before the ex-Death Eater was really certain that his expression had twitched he schooled them again.

'Yes... Something like that...'

Severus growled at the unmistakable amusement that etched in the younger one's insufferable reply. He had to breath, in and out. He had spent 8 years in Azkaban; he had escaped a life-long conviction.

But what really kept him from pulling his wand and blasting the Golden Boy was that if he did it, it'd be a pretty damn happy day for Sirius Black in Hell.

Not because he'd kill the boy, but because he'd manage to be rightfully accused of something that not even that psycho was capable of. Imagine Potter's dogfather's satisfaction at whatever after-live he had gotten himself into.

He wouldn't allow that, no matter how much his hand itched. Black had created a new kind of low, and he wouldn't allow himself to follow it. That was why he took a deep breath and forced a bark through his tightly clenched teeth.

'Get out of my sight, you imbecilic boy.'

When the older man turned his back on him, yet again – reassumed his swift and menacing departure – Harry couldn't help but let his anger flare. He most certainly didn't appreciate to be so bluntly disrespected, especially when he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

'I'm not a boy anymore, Snape' he replied evenly, stalling the older man's retreat.

'I see you didn't refute my calling you an imbecile' Severus turned back only enough to show Potter his sneer, then he made to leave again 'If you'll excuse me, I have better things to do.'

To his everlasting disgrace and damnation, Harry wasn't about to let him off the hook like that. At least, not in that moment, and he knew just what to say to get the other's attention.

'Did you photograph me?' he asked, raising his voice.

At that, Snape stopped. He didn't turn around right away, his hands closed into tight fists, for a moment he didn't give a damn if he would rot away in a cell. It'd be worth it, if he caused Harry Potter a lot of pain.

'You did, didn't you?' the voice pierced his bubble of fury, although it didn't sound like a question at all.

The green-eyed wizard shoved his free hand in his jeans' pockets, his right hand still carrying the book he had been reading. Slowly, carelessly, he walked to his old professor's side. He knew that any other position would only make him more of a target to Snape's wrath than he had ever been.

If he placed himself before the Potions Master, it'd seem like a disrespectful challenge. If he stayed at his back, there was no knowing what reactions he would provoke. Besides, he was taunting the old man enough with his serenity.

'I thought I had felt someone staring at me...' he began carefully, noticing that Snape refused to look at him, his face set and unfriendly 'I didn't look up before because I've learned to ignore this feeling... But it didn't go away and I thought-'

Suddenly Severus whipped his head to his side, watching the way his sudden movements made Potter's eyes grow in surprise. He slowly turned all of his body towards the Boy Who Lived, locking him with a gaze that was meant to do nothing but scrutinize.

And if possible, humiliate too.

'Are you following me, Potter?' he drawled, and it was obvious that he didn't care about the answer because he had pretty much came up with one himself.

That was the only explanation.

Severus was a wizard but that didn't necessarily mean that he believed in fate. Despite the fact that he had far more knowledge on the subject, especially if you add prophecies to the equation, he was still very much certain that nothing was planned or inevitable.

_Your life is pretty much the result of all the fuck-ups you do during its course_. He? He had fucked up many times, in epic proportions even, what explained most of the crap in his existence really. But even though he didn't like nor did he buy the whole destiny bit, he also did not believe in coincidences.

It hadn't been a coincidence that the Marauders had chosen him as scapegoat for their most sadistic trades, it hadn't been coincidence that he just happened to be at the Astronomy Tower with Draco that night, or that Harry James Potter looked just like his blasted father but still had his mother's eyes.

And it most certainly hadn't been a coincidence that it had been Lily Evan's son that killed the greatest and darkest wizard that had ever lived.

It was all plain bad luck, if you asked him.

What meant that Potter had a purpose, he had a goal, and Severus Snape was too old and too pissed off to ignore it just now, as he had all the other times he had met the blasted boy.

Harry immediately caught on this change of pace, knowing that there was something very wrong with the way the Potions Master looked at him and the words that came out of his mouth.

'What?' he frowned violently, then groaned as he shook his head wearily 'No. Look –'

He didn't get to finish that.

'Regretted the little good deed you did years ago?' Snape poked viciously with the tone that had always made Potter loathe him deeply 'Have you decided that you should take upon yourself to haunt a Death Eater and a murderer? Is that it? Do you want to make my life a bloody nightmare, Potter?' he gave him a mirthless and mean grin 'Because you really don't have to try this hard, boy. I have lived a nightmare for most of my childhood and adult life. And I still live by them every single second. Courtesy of your adorable father, godfather and Headmaster. I really don't want to frustrate you, but all you're doing is unnerve me.'

Severus was now towering Potter and the satisfaction was so nostalgic that he almost didn't regret his sudden outburst. Perhaps he had gone too far, told more than the Golden Boy needed to know but what the hell? He just wanted him gone.

He had been fine. But that was a lie, wasn't it?

Severus had never been fine, never in all his life. But at least he had been at peace; he had been away from everything. Far away from the memories, the ghost and everything Potter represented.

Everything that bloody Gryffindor stood for and had fought for.

He expected the old fits of anger, the screaming and the barely contained tears. But Harry fucking Potter offered none. He merely stood there, looking at Snape with eyes growing darker and glassy, and somehow that was better than what he used to do when they confronted each other back in a day.

Because that way, the older man had the upper hand as he had always had.

'If I only mildly irritate you...' Harry replied blankly 'Why are you so desperate to send me away, Snape?'

And just like that, Severus felt the control of the situation slip through his fingers. It was enough. He didn't need that. He didn't want that. Potter, Potters, Evans, Blacks, Lupins, Pettigrews, Dumbledores, McGonagalls, Lestranges, Malfoys, Riddles, Snapes; they had all destroyed him.

One by one, piece a piece.

It had to stop.

'Get out of my way, Potter' he groaned and turned to leave.

'I'm not seventeen anymore, Snape.' Harry said evenly, as if he wasn't saying the obvious 'You won't get me to flee and leave you alone, without one single answer just because you're offending the memories I have...' he chuckled hollowly 'I used to make it really easy for you, didn't I? That's why you always preferred Neci or Malfoy...'

And for the third time in less than 10 minutes, he managed to make Severus Snape halt his steps.

Something about the other's expression, a mix of all possible unpleasant and painful feelings, gave Harry a bizarre sense of deja vú. It wouldn't be for along time until he remembered when he had seen that look on Snape's face before.

'Don't.' the threat was hoarse and meaningful 'You _dare_ talk about Draco.'

The younger one blinked, the unfamiliar familiarity of the situation making him too uncomfortable to do anything other than reassure his former professor, though he'd be damned if he knew why he did it.

'I wasn't going to'

The answer affected Snape instantly, his face again impassive and his frown and voice impatient.

'What do you want, Potter? To talk about the grand old days over tea?' his voice made it clear that'd be a snowing day in Hell before that ever happened.

The older man's condescension irritated Potter deeply, and he made sure the other saw just how his sarcasm was absolutely unappreciated. As if Snape really was bothered to take that kind of hint.

'No. I just...' he stopped abruptly before he groaned 'Were you or were you not taking pictures of me?'

'Yes, I was.'

The immediate, stubborn – and clearly not without struggle – answer stumped Harry. So much so that for a moment he was at loss for words. He wasn't used to a Snape who didn't simply told him to shut the hell up and kept on chanting exactly that, until Harry was too hoarse from their screaming match to even remember what he had wanted to know in the first place.

And yet, there stood the ex-Death Eater, vexed and with his arms crossed, his face hard and his eyes belittling; but also answering his question.

'Why?' he asked, unable to demand it as he had planned to.

'Because I didn't think it was you, you conceited insufferable boy' the curl of lips was followed by a disdainful once over.

Typical, Snape was making it sound as if he, Harry, was a conceited wanker. He took a deep tired breath but held the other's unwavering gaze.

'I'm not a boy anymore'

'Oh, for the love of-'

Severus didn't even bother to finish the phrase, deciding that he definitely shouldn't be there wasting his time, he turned, intend on leaving for good this time.

He had barely taken two steps before Harry inadvertedly repeated a mistake he shouldn't have repeated.

'Snape!'

This time there was no warning; he only knew what had happened until his face was millimeters away from Severus Snape's. In record time, and with a swiftness that made him move like a bloody snake, his old professor got hold of the front of his shirt and pulled him towards his empty onyx eyes.

'I already told you to stop shouting my name, Potter' he warned lowly 'I'm not going to say it again.'

And just as suddenly as he had been grabbed, Harry was released, leaving him slightly bereft. That was the first time Snape had ever gotten so close of him, hell, it was the first time the old man had ever touched him in the least.

In an odd way, he felt uneasier than actually worried. Despite of the fact that he had just been manhandled, he felt as if he had trespassed the Potions Master's personal space. Of course, his personal space had just been violated, brutally so, but Harry didn't feel as offended as he should have.

That was why he simply rearranged his shirt, his voice calming and sensible; the same voice he used whenever he was trying to bring a particularly nasty, venous and pissed-off student from going berserk.

It could be highly destructive in a magical school; the whole "let go" technique didn't work when the adolescent in question had a wand and a (im)moral predisposition to throw Unforgivables like confetti.

Obviously, if Snape ever found this out – and read between the lines – there was a good chance that Harry would in the very least lose his manhood.

'Look... I have a place nearby, all right? I stay here, whenever I'm not at school obviously... And I always come here to read, although this bloody book is a complete waste of time...' he grinned and showed the other the volume he still carried.

If he had the willingness or energy to, Severus was pretty sure that that was the most likely moment of all the times that he had been obligated to be around Potter, that he'd have ended up cursing the prat.

Still, something about his sudden calmness, and the fact that he himself had just lost his control for a second, made him deepen his frown but keep on listening. It was either that, or the mere fact that the book the blasted Golden Boy was holding was one of the journals had had recently read – and absolutely hated.

'I know you hate me...' Harry ignored the snort he earned for that understatement and continued 'I have to say you're not my favorite person in the world either... But I also know you miss it...'

'I've got my wand, Potter' Snape raised an eyebrow at the impossible audacity 'I still can do magic and I don't have to go to Diagon Alley for it. The same goes for Potions and anything remotely –'

'Teaching...' Potter shook his head kindly 'I'm talking about teaching... I know you miss it...'

In only two seconds the menacing sneer and frown were firmly back on place.

'You don't know anything about me, Potter.' Severus drawled disdainfully 'Don't fool yourself.'

Snape saw the way Potter's expression closed once again. The same look he had witnessed at the gallery when he had finally broken the serene exterior the boy had offered all night.

It didn't last long though, for soon Harry looked away and then back at his old professor, his eyes now blank, but not guarded. His voice was weary but firm.

'I do...' he continued without ego, and in a rush so the other man wouldn't simply rebuke him or lash out at him 'I do because I miss it every day during summer... Because I can't help but spend hours in my lab trying to create something, get something right or find the easiest way to teach them how to brew a Memory Potion decently... I do because I saw the way you talked to Ernest the other day...'

That about did it. Severus didn't answer with the snaky comment he had on the tip of his tongue. His earlier curiosity about Potter's real intentions came back full force.

So there _was_ something there.

The Boy Who Lived was working too hard to keep that conversation, and he had worked even harder to make it reach that particular turn, against all odds.

'What are you saying, Potter?' he asked simply and uninterestedly.

'The obvious, Snape...' Harry said seriously, his face now set in his most determined expression 'I know most people wouldn't hire you... Not even to make first-year potions... And you won't go back to Hogwarts; I know for sure that McGonagall only didn't invite you back yet because you couldn't be found... And believe me she and many others have tried to find you...'

'Do you have a point, Potter?' Severus drawled bored.

Harry nodded, knowing that the fact that the Potions Master was still there and hadn't hexed his mouth shut; meant that he was paying attention. More, it meant that he was interested.

'Yes...' he continued 'Come with me to Durmstrang... Piotr would love to have you there, and taking in consideration the profile of most families that send their boys there I doubt we'd have impressive amounts of complaints about your presence... And you're the best Potions Master there is, besides...' Harry grinned knowingly 'Ernest would give you all the motivation you'll need to tolerate the other hundreds of students... The salary is good too, third times what you used to earn and you'll be able to take on your photography there-'

'Why this desperate need to convince me, Potter?'

It was a pretty damn good question. But it still had interrupted him, and he couldn't help but start. Harry then picked on the real meaning of Snape's question.

He made sure he was looking into the older one's eyes as he gave him his answer. Let the man use Legillimens if he wanted, as long as the older one heard what he had to say, he didn't care. In ways, the git was right; he was desperate to convince him.

'I can guarantee you that I am not leading you into a trap of any kind, Snape' Potter declared with so much sincerity that Severus was almost appalled 'I just really love what I am doing and I honestly believe that you are the right one for the job.'

But of curse, the truthfulness that was dripping from the boy's voice and was more than clear in his eyes didn't change the fact that he hadn't fully answered the question. Snape knew that Potter was keeping their eyes locked in an open invitation, or challenge, for him to search for the honesty in his mind but the former teacher didn't take the chance.

Not even to know if it was merely an offering or an attempt to bail him.

'And?' he asked suspiciously and tersely.

Harry was slightly taken aback at the fact that the older one didn't even try to get inside his mind. Taking in consideration their past, that was the most shocking thing Snape had done – or rather not done – since he found him almost a complete week ago.

'No and' he answered automatically.

Severus leaned forward ever so lightly, looking deep into the younger man's eyes, but that was all he did.

'There's always an _And_, Potter' he replied plainly 'I made your life impossible at school, and like you said we most certainly don't feel even civil towards each other. Why go to such lengths to get me a job?'

At that, Harry let go. It wasn't like he could refute those comments and he was utterly tired of beating around the bush. Besides, he could play mind games with Snape later; he had more important things to do.

And almost no time at all.

He took a deep breath, looking away for the first time.

'It's Ernest...'

That answer and the far off exhausted expression on Potter's face were certainly not what Severus had been expecting. In all honesty, he had no idea of what the heck he had been expecting, but it most definitely hadn't been that.

'Mr. Hamilton?' he asked numbly.

Harry didn't answer right away; he kept on looking everywhere but back at Snape. That should most naturally unnerve the other man, but neither of them said a thing.

For the first time in days, Severus was sure that he could say any degrading thing his sharp mind could come up with and still Potter would be at his heels. He didn't know for sure if the boy had been following him, but he had a feeling he was about to find out why Harry Potter wasn't as eager to see the back of him as he was to see his.

The youth's voice awakened his mind, the sound hoarse and absentminded.

'Can we...' Harry finally looked over at his former Potions professor, and perpetual hater 'Can we go somewhere more appropriate to have this discussion? My flat is this way...'

Without really knowing why, Severus Snape nodded.

* * *

Severus had refused the tea Potter had offered.

Actually he had growled that he bloody hell didn't want a goddamned thing and all that Potter could do for him was answer his bloody question. Not even that was enough to take the misty haze from the Golden Boy's eyes. But still, Snape noticed that the Ministry's Poster-Boy took on himself to annoy him and announced that he'd appreciate a cup of Old Grey very much.

Severus wasn't ashamed to say that he had wished the boy would choke.

All in all, he was glad he hadn't taken the cup.

Because if he had, he'd be pretty much sick.

Harry stood at his window, knowing that his old professor was watching him from his couch. He couldn't care less; he continued to stare out at the pane of glass, occasionally sipping his now stone cold tea, as he had done since he began the story.

It wasn't as terrifying as it was saddening and uncomfortable, but still he was sure he'd never get used to it. As he'd never get used to any of the stories he had heard after the war ended, simply because it didn't matter how ludicrous or unbelievable they were. He still knew they were all true.

Snape leaned back on his seat, his face now thoughtful, what was a rather startling contrast to his suspicious mask, the very one he had used all the way to Potter's flat untill the moment the other began his tale of horror.

During the uncomfortable silence that the younger one let fall between them once he was done, Severus was trying to absorb what he had just heard.

The wretched youth had simply taken a sip of his tea, cleaned his throat and began the dale with a dispassionate voice.

'Ernest was only 5 when it happened, a pack got in his house. His parents and older brother had built a bunker, like most families did back at that time, and they practically lived at this bunker more than at the house. In the last night of war, a random pack burst their way into the Hamilton's house. If it had been anyone else, Death Eaters looking for refuge, or even Vampires trying to hide from the sun...'

Harry had shook his head in defeat and sighed tiredly:

'Werewolves... I never could find out what happened, why they got inside... Lupin didn't see a pattern in this behavior also... Werewolves never look for small locations, not even when they're threatened... They freak out, become savage and head to attack... They never hide... They never run to hide... But the thing is that they did... They destroyed the house... Everything... Not a problem at all if they had been anyone else... Anyone at all... But werewolves? Of course they caught Ernest and his family's scent... They spent hours attacking the bunker... Lupin and the others only got there minutes after the werewolves had breached through the bunker... More than enough time...'

Snape had watched silently the way the other seemed to lose himself in thought, before he blinked repeatedly as if trying to clear his view. After a while he had continued with the same unemotional voice:

'Ernest's parents threw themselves right on, putting their bodies in range to give Ernest's brother time to escape with him... He was only 14 years old... With another child in hands... He lost his balance; he got scared, I don't know... Maybe a bit of both... He fell from the bunker, all three floors, hit his temple bad on the floor and passed out... Lupin said that the werewolves probably thought he was dead and that was why they didn't touch him... He had a serious concussion... The fall smashed three vertebras... He lost all movement from the waist down... They say... That the werewolves probably knew this...' Harry curled his lips, but the older one didn't see it 'Damaged goods... It was a miracle Michael survived at all... But Ernest... When Lupin arrived they were about to eat him whole... They saved him and saved his brother too...'

Severus kept silent for a little longer, until all the information that Potter had dropped over his head was finally and completely inside his mind, for further and later study. He didn't even bother to warn in advance that he was about to speak.

'Mr. Hamilton is a werewolf since his childhood?'

'Yes...' Harry said simply 'Lupin and Tonks kept him and his brother... Trying to educate Michael to get on with his life, overcome depression and feel confident enough despite his disability...' he stopped again before he kept on going 'And trying to tutor and appease Ernest as much as they could... Lupin mostly since he had been bitten at an early age too...'

Severus frowned when a very unpleasant thought crossed his mind. He immediately voiced his question.

'How many years did Mr. Hamilton went on without a potion?'

'A good one?' Potter asked, not bothering to move yet, nor waiting for answer 'Five years...'

'FIVE YEARS?'

It was crazy and Snape couldn't help but raise his voice at the imbecility and danger of the situation. How the hell had Lupin and Tonks taken care of two orphans, being that one of them was merely a child and a werewolf without a decent Wolfsbane Potion for five years?

How could Lupin be so irresponsible as to put not only Nymphadora's life but also Mr. Hamilton's older brother at risk like that?

Not to mention Ernest Hamilton himself. It was an absolute miracle that the boy had survived to see his adolescence. Severus knew for fact that many children who were bitten died – a most gruesome death at that – during their first full moon, their fragile and undeveloped body unable to withstand the pain and violence of the transformation.

He was so immersed in indignation and useless anger that he almost missed Potter's answer.

'Yes...' he said softly, ignoring or not caring for the volume of the other's voice 'When I got in Durmstrang that was when he got in too... At the time I didn't know that he and Lupin were taking such a draught potion, and before I had been a bit preoccupied with other things...'

The Potions Master gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain quiet. He was very much aware of what had kept the Boy Who Lived occupied at that time. It was after all the reason why Snape was standing at Harry Potter's living room in that moment.

'By then he and Michael weren't living at Lupin's anymore' he continued 'In fact they only did it for three years... When Michael was legal and better, they left... Ernest always went to Lupin close to full-moon and then when he was of age and got the letter for both Hogwarts and Durmstrang, Lupin advised him to come to Durmstrang...'

'Because of you?'

Want as he might, Harry didn't hear the contempt. It was merely a conclusion, and the older one almost made it sound logical, obvious. Even if his voice was somewhat laced with sarcasm.

He figured there would have to be created the day when Severus Snape would be able extract every single unpleasant tone from his voice when he was talking to or of Harry Potter.

'In part...' he nodded lightly and finally turned around to face the former teacher 'Like I said... Most families don't care about the past of their teachers for they have pretty bleak pasts themselves... And with the end of the war, it took a few years for people to overlook differences and unify... Lupin didn't want Ernest to feel the way he did when he was at Hogwarts...'

Severus thought over this for a while before he addressed his next question. He was now undoubtedly intrigued about where that conversation would lead him. So far he hadn't been able to figure out what exactly was his part, or the part the Boy Who Lived was so eager to give him.

'And what would make Durmstrang different?' he asked clinically.

'I don't know...' Harry said calmly, he looked down at his cup and then smirked sardonically but in no way mockingly 'Maybe the fact that it doesn't look beautiful at any time of year? Because every day is either snowing, or raining, or just dark?'

'What would favor Mr. Hamilton's adaptation' Severus supplied.

'Probably...' Potter said carelessly before he sighed deeply 'I wouldn't know...'

'And is it better for him?'

For the first time Harry felt his lips twitch truthfully and honestly, since he got at his apartment. He truly had learned to love that school and everyone under that ancient and magic roof.

It had been there that he had spent most of his more than bearable moments since everything was over. It was thanks to those people, those students, Ernest that he was still there.

'I think so...' he nodded and Snape saw the same light blazing in his eyes that he had seen the first time they had encountered and he had mentioned Durmstrang 'He loves that school... It's written on his face... He feels free there, he told me... Knowing that everyone can protect themselves from him if it's ever necessary...'

The ex-Death Eater nodded, bottling every time bit of information, still unaware of what precisely was expected of him.

'Does he have friends?'

The question caught Harry unaware and stumped him. Since when that was something a man known as The Ultimate Greasy Git for six generations of Weasleys, general Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, would care to know, let alone bother to ask?

He looked over at the impassive expression the before-mentioned bastard had firmly on his face and raised an intrigued eyebrow as he thought about the answer.

'I don't think so...' he frowned suddenly 'Ernest doesn't tell me much... Neither does he to Michael or Lupin...'

'Don't you watch him in class, Potter?' Snape asked as if that was an obvious thing to do and therefore an easy answer to give.

'I do...' Harry frowned deeply, looking at loss – and slightly embarrassed – for a while 'But he's always so focused in my classes... I never see him talking to anyone in them and as far as the other professors are concerned he's just like that at all classes...' he drifted off slightly and then added as if foreseeing the impatient question 'As for out of classrooms... I see him chatting with some of the boys every once in a while but no one in particular... As in, no group or person specifically...'

That didn't bode well, and something about the concentrated look on Potter's face told Severus that the dense boy had realized it too. _Well, it bloody serves him right,_ he thought. Say what you say, Snape had always been acutely aware of every single one of his students.

Sure they irritated the shit out of him but he still knew exactly who was related to whom, who was friends with whom and who was romantically involved with whom.

It was something that came from his years as a spy; he couldn't help but watch people serendipitously and draw patterns to personalities. But he knew that most people didn't have the same talent, and Potter most certainly didn't.

'I see' he said simply, without much interest and fed up with the fact that they were going on and on in circles and he still hadn't gotten his answer 'Why do you want me to be Ernest's Potions Master? You mentioned him before. Specifically telling me that he's the one who's going to make my taking this job worth it. What's the "And", Potter?'

For the second time that day, Harry Potter did something he had never done before in all his confrontations with Severus Snape. He looked away.

Not even when he was bluntly lying about not taking anything from the old professor's storage – or just really keeping silent and taking every threat and attack the older one could ditch him, without even bothering the refute the accusations that were thrown at him, did he ever look away.

Of course he used to do that when he was indeed at fault, when Snape was being unfair – something that happened almost as frequently as Harry lied to him – he simply screamed the bloody castle down.

Something that he hadn't noticed back at that time, but Severus had.

Potter sighed and groaned softly, but there was no knowing what that reaction meant. He had long over taken off his dark shades; actually Snape only saw them again when the boy placed them on his coffee table when they went to the living room.

He also hadn't put on those ridiculous round spectacles of his, something that the Potions Master was silently relived for, but now he was rubbing his eyes as only someone who wore glasses for a long period of time did.

'The potion...' he said with a growling, yet soft, tone 'I was able to improve it... Strength it... Over the years... For being bitten at such a young age, his body wasn't fully grown... Neither was it already in development... As he is in his adolescence, his body chemicals started to go crazy... And so did the transformation process...'

'He's become unpredictable' Severus finished, thoughtfully.

Potter sent him a pained expression that Snape wouldn't be able to expect or decipher, even if he did care enough to do either one of those.

'In ways... He changes... Just like Lupin does... Same time even... But with him it's different...' he shook his head impatiently, his face had the same fierce determination Severus had seen only a few times 'The more mature his body becomes, the more savage he becomes when he transforms... It's really like his growth spurt is affecting every single nuance of his body...'

'The stronger the man, the stronger is the beast.'

Harry could have winced at the older man's nonchalant but again he couldn't agree more. It was that what was happening to Ernest, wasn't it?

'Something like that... At second year, my potion didn't get any response...' he focused on the empty cup on his hands, rolling it in his hands, before he continued his train of thoughts 'He became absolutely unintelligible; the pain was excruciating and drove him insane... And... It almost killed him more than once to transform...'

The ex-Death Eater went silent for a moment; there were some pieces that didn't quite fit in that puzzle. He didn't even realize that he was pacing in front of the couch he had been sat on when all of that started.

Harry was still looking down at the cup after he had almost let it fall for the second time, only catching it in time thanks to his natural Seeker reflexes. He actually liked that mug very much; Ginny had given him that cup at his 20th birthday.

It had a stag on it, trotting in circles over and over on the porcelain surface. It had been thoughtful, very special and beautiful. But then again that was exactly the kind of person Ginny Weasley was.

'Mr. Hamilton said you could overcome this defective point.'

The comment was even, low and slightly hoarse with annoyance but still pierced the silence rather uncomfortably.

Harry looked up and found Snape frowning irritated at him, as if he truly believed that he didn't have to have said anything, and Harry should have just cleared that point a long time ago.

Typical, he was annoyed because the comment meant a twisted recognition of Harry's abilities, even if he was merely repeating something someone else had said.

'I had a piece of his hair when I was teaching him the Polyjuice Potion...' he said slowly, as if waiting for a sudden attack 'At the same time that I was brewing his potion... I accidentally let his hair fall onto the wrong cauldron...'

To his own immense surprise, Severus didn't even bother to verbally abuse Potter.

'The wolfsbane adapted itself to his body.'

'Yes...' Harry said still very carefully 'It increased the amount of ingredients, to fit his body's necessity... With the months I had to change some of the ingredients too... Find stronger ones; make some alterations in the potion... And it had been working...'

'But is isn't anymore.'

Snape watched as Potter turned back to the window, the lights outside growing in number as the day was progressively ending.

'No... He's growing too fast, getting stronger too...' the Golden Boy sounded confused, obviously unable to decide if he should be pleased or not with his student's perfect health 'The transformation is becoming more and more violent, making him ruthless and unreasonable... He knows this... For the past few months he's made me chain him...'

Severus started; the younger one was now positively avoiding looking anywhere near him. Those green-eyes glued to the window. The older man waited for a better explanation but it never came.

'He's made you?' he asked as if he wanted to make sure he had heard it correctly.

Harry closed his eyes, sighing deeply, feeling his shoulder slump slightly before he got hold of himself and straightened again. His hands closed forcefully around his mug, his knuckles becoming white and achy.

'Yes...'

Severus didn't push because it was clear that Potter wouldn't say anything more on the subject.

Still, he had enough with the delaying and decided it was time they actually talked business. He sat back down on the couch, crossed his legs and entwined his fingers over his lap, his forefingers supporting his chin as he studied the youth with dejected interest and amusement.

'So you want me to brew Mr. Hamilton a new potion?'

Harry relaxed his hold on the mug unconsciously and slowly focused his attention back on Snape. He took in the other's current position and nonchalant behavior, but promised himself that he wouldn't let that affect him.

_He's trying to goat you, Harry_, he told himself, _just like he always did._

He nodded.

'You're the only one who can discover a way... I'm not stupid... I'm not asking for cure, I know it's impossible... I just... I just don't want him to suffer so much... You could get something for Lupin, something strong enough to help him...' he trailed off for a moment before he reassumed his thoughts 'I'm not good enough to do anything for Ernest... The only time I actually achieved something it was because I made a mistake...' he smiled but it looked like a grimaced 'He needs someone who knows what they're doing... He can't afford to trust me to do the right mistake all the time...'

'I can't argue you with that' was all Severus allowed himself to say.

'I know...' Potter grinned unruffled 'I know...'

Snape nodded, clearly not focused in that moment anymore. Just like he had at the apothecary, Severus was now concentrated on everything he had heard so far.

Besides he knew that his silence unnerved the brat and that was always welcomed.

'You told me he's an efficient pupil.'

A hideous ear-to-ear smile bloomed on Potter's face, making him look even more like the deranged idiot that he was. His green eyes sparkled in a way that made Severus' lip curl instinctively, both at the sight of it and the memory it awoke.

But Harry didn't see any of that.

'The best' he beamed proud 'He actually brew the Polyjuice Potion at his first-year, in secret... He confessed as much when I dropped his hair in his potion... That was why I dropped his hair for that matter... And he won't tell me but I figure that wasn't the first time he had done it...'

'You believe so, huh?' came the soft reply, even though it was delivered rather plainly.

'Even Hermione had to study the potion for a long time before she attempted to brew it at our first year...' Harry said meaningfully with a chuckle 'Ernest knew all the ingredients precisely by heart...'

'I see.'

Severus wasn't at all participating fully of that conversation. That was so true that he hadn't even attempted to deduct house points for Potter's blunt hint for the destiny of some of many of the ingredients that mysteriously disappeared from his storage.

Harry realized that the Potions Master wasn't entirely paying attention at what they were saying, even though he could successfully answer and comment anything that was said. He was sure that he had never witnessed a moment like that with anyone, let alone with Severus Snape.

It was odd; it made him look unusual (for making something that most people couldn't – space out and not be obvious about it), and yet utterly normal, common, ordinary – human (for doing something that everyone could and did do).

Strangely enough, it bothered Harry greatly. He cleaned his throat and pushed himself from the window, siting on the armchair he kept in front of his couch, and therefore in front of the Potions Master.

'I know you don't have to be at the school to do any of this...' he started, trying to snap the older man out of his self-induced intellectual haze 'But I figure that if you spend all possible time next to him, or at least close enough to call him or me at any time... It'd be better to do all kinds of experiments and you could try everything...'

Severus blinked once; his eyes had started to sting lightly because he had been staring fixedly at the complex patterns of Potter's Persian rug. He then looked up to find the Boy Who Lived sat before him and try as he might, he couldn't remember seeing him getting there.

'Mr. Hamilton knows of this endeavor of yours?' he asked calmly, watching a shadow pass by the Golden Boy's face before he leaned back on his armchair and shook his head.

'No... And I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him...' Harry then added quickly at Snape's raised eyebrow 'I mean, that I'm asking you to come mostly because of him... I wouldn't want him to know about this... He's scared enough as it is about what's going on... And he'd just get the wrong message from it all...'

'Probably' he offered noncommittally.

Not really knowing why, Harry felt necessary to let a few things very clear before the Potions Master found fit to bite his head off or scream false accusations. It was a mystery why that hadn't happened so far.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was worth it. Or at least, that it was for Ernest's sake.

'I swear I haven't gone after you, Snape, nor am I following you.' he earned a raised eyebrow 'But since our paths are connecting more ways than not for this past days... You're really the only one who can truly help Ernest... And I'm willing to ask you to do it...'

Silence fell between them again.

Harry waited for something, a hex maybe, and Severus just seemed too preoccupied with everything running in his head to even be nasty.

'Ask me' the older man echoed blankly.

'Yes' Potter nodded, relieved that the conversation was progressing, albeit slowly, to a good result 'We'll never get to be friends... And Merlin knows how much you despise me completely and that for some part of it; you even have your share of rightfulness... As so do I to dislike you fiercely...' he added quickly when he saw that Snape was about to jump at the opportunity to lash out, then he leaned forward and adopted a polite and reasonable tone 'But I really want you to ignore all of that, please don't let me or what you feel about me and other people get between you and Ernest. I wouldn't live with myself if I knew that I had been the cause of him losing his only chance. I'm willing to do anything you want, I'll leave Durmstrang if you want.'

Severus didn't say anything right away; he just analyzed the words for a moment. Had he heard it correctly? Was the Boy Who Lived so willing to dispose of his own job, a job he clearly enjoyed, for the sake of one adolescent?

Suddenly he was reminded of the way Ernest Hamilton looked at him at the Diagon Alley before the boy knew who he was. He also remembered the curious interaction between the self-acclaimed professor and the student, trying to add Potter's fierce desperation to make his mind on taking the position.

The ex-Death Eater was almost afraid to know what the equation could possibly because. But then again, he went back to the night of his exhibition and the way the Golden Boy had been so bluntly uncomfortable with Brown's lack of tact about their mutual friend's sexuality.

That allowed Severus to shake those former assumptions out of his mind and focus on the contemptuousness he had to inflict in his voice for his reply.

'You'll leave Dursmtrang?'

Potter nodded readily and without hesitation, clearly he had thought that over many times before.

'Surely. I know the idea of spending one year near me must irk you deeply, and if you want I'll simply leave' he interrupted himself, and for a fleeting moment Severus thought he had seen something akin to pain but then it was quickly dissipated 'I can find someone else to teach Dark Arts, if I talk to Blaise, he might go back and-'

Snape noticed the easiness with which Zabini's first name was uttered but didn't say anything on the matter.

Harry waited for the moment of truth. He didn't know what to think, or what to expect. The old Severus Snape he knew would decline his offer very violently. But then again, the Snape he had grown up with would never wait all this time to curse him and leave.

In fact, his old professor would never even be at his living room, talking to him for so long. Even with everything that was said, and done, nothing erased the fact that they were still having a tad civilized conversation.

Or at least, as civilized as they were capable of.

He watched as the man before him merely stared at his rug in silence as he had done many times since they got there. That wasn't the same man he remembered of. Harry never even suspected that one day he'd see Snape in anything else than his batty robes, or the terrible Azkaban uniform. Still, there he was, dressed mostly in black but nothing too out of the ordinary.

Nothing too wizarding.

Sure he wasn't close to be as casual with muggle clothes as Harry, but then again he had pretty much grown up in the muggle world and Snape's inclusion in that world was a very recent development.

And yet, the Potions Master seemed to be functioning rather smoothly in such an adverse environment.

'And what will you tell Mr. Hamilton?'

'What?'

Severus saw the way the annoying youth blinked repeatedly as if he had been caught staring or doing something he shouldn't have. But soon, the younger face had adopted that serene expression he had seen – and loathed – since they had met each other again.

What surprised him was the lack of challenge and irritation that used to burn in Potter's eyes whenever that happened. The boy sure had changed.

But that didn't mean Snape was about to make it easy for him, he never did and he never would. He rolled his eyes and sneer impatiently.

'You assured him that you'd be there for the next term.'

Harry's eyes widened ever so lightly in surprise at just remembering that fact, and more so for just being reminded of that by his former potions professor.

'I know...' he said sounding slightly confused 'But... Well... He'll understand...'

Snape waved his hand dismissively, making it clear that Potter's feeble attempt to answer his question was absolutely uncalled for.

Harry had always hated the aristocratic way the older man had always acted, mostly towards him. As if the Potions Master knew and had ever known that he was better than Harry, and he just was disgusted by the fact that Harry seemed unable to understand something so obvious.

He narrowed his eyes in warning but the convicted murder wasn't looking at him, his forefingers tapping musingly at his chin and his brow bearing the everlasting scowl.

Of all the things he could have said in that moment, his next words most certainly never crossed Harry Potter's mind and therefore they quite surprised him. But this time, the current Durmstrang's professor didn't let it show, he was coming around the fact that Severus Snape's new method of infuriating him was to stump him.

'Three times what I used to earn, you said?' was the slow, dejected drawl he heard.

'Yes...' was the smirking, knowing and quite too pleasant answer.

Harry gathered it was enough. Nothing was better to irritate a Slytherin than a happy Gryffindor.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

He had a dark scowl marrying his face. The day was bright and yet pale, his eyes narrowed every time the sunlight hit a particularly polished surface, sending blinding tendrils of light his way.

Of course those weren't the solo responsible for his frown and irritation. The fact that Severus Snape was walking to one of the Surrey Commercial Docks helped his bleak and unapproachable state of mind. Not for the first time he asked himself why he had ever allowed any form of agreement to be made in his old mind.

The only possible excuses were that he was either getting senile or he was going insane. And obviously none favored him much.

Not two days after the incident at the park, and the Golden Boy's final revelation, Snape received the first owl that had been sent to him since he was tossed into a cell in Azkaban. It bore a double-headed eagle crest, and it had been magically enchanted so only he could open the envelope and read its contents. The flowery handwriting he had found was not unfamiliar to him, although it wasn't one he knew very well.

It didn't take him long to search deep into his mind and extract an echo for those square A's and extended crosses on the T's. It was a direct letter from Durmstrang new and young Headmaster.

Teaching Piotr Antokolsky during his seventh-year brought Severus images of a tall, tanned boy, with an easy smile and a perpetual blush whenever a certain silver-haired fifth-year crossed his path. The Potions Master had enjoyed that year as the Russian's Head of House, especially because of Antokolsky's raw aptitude and sincere appreciation for potions.

Piotr never excelled in the craft, and if Severus' memory served him right – and it had always – his former student had managed only an Acceptable at his NEWT. Remarkable nonetheless. Even if Snape had only acknowledged it with a disdainful sneer.

The message sent was curt and formal, a polite invitation for the former professor to visit the school now under the young Russian's administration. As well as a legal copy of the documents that would be needed if he accepted the position as Potions professor once again.

It was clear that Piotr was acting like a true Slytherin, not taking anything at face value and careful enough to test the waters. It made sense, Severus had been away for far too long and the Headmaster would be a fool to simply take Potter's word as law. It was that suspicious and wary behavior that finally gave Snape all the reassurance he needed to sign the papers and send them back to Durmstrang the next day.

There was only one point that got him severely unpleased with the whole deal – Potter hadn't lied about the salary and he found out he had several other benefits coming with the job; like free reign when it came to his teaching schedule as well as absolute control over an endless amount of ingredients, even the ones of the most dubious form, like vampire blood and shards of unicorn's horn – the fact that every professor was expected to go to the school with the students in their first official year working at Durmstrang was rather abhorring to put it mildly.

Needless to say that a quick apparation somewhere near the wizarding school would be more than welcomed, mostly considering the option of travelling over two hours under sea with hundreds of hormonally driven monsters.

_Well, a downside to everything_, he gathered.

Obviously, the grudgingly acceptance of this particular term in the contract didn't exactly mean that he was anywhere nearer accepting his fate in that first day of September than he had been one month before when he signed the papers. And the closer he got to the dock he had been directed to on the latest letter that he got from Antokolsky, the darker his scowl became.

Around him he could see many wizards and witches with their loud offspring, presumably "incognito". How they planned on succeeding while wearing absurdly colorful and unmatched clothing he didn't know. It was good that that day the whole area of London Docklands was under subtle but still effective wards that made muggles more tolerable with that questionable fashion circus and unusually forgetful of anything out of the ordinary.

'Snape...'

Severus frowned at the voice that called him. He gritted his teeth and clenched his hand around his wand, but forced himself to take a deep breath and count till 10. He had to get used to people calling him that again.

After years of not being forced to handle the memories and the many ghostly voices that whispered in his ears, and nightmares, he was back to that world and on his own volition. The Potions Master was still unsure of why he was going back to magic full force, or why he had let an incompetent like Potter, of all, to convince him out of his boring as hell but blissfully uneventful life.

But the truth was that Snape was too accustomed to a double life to settle for one muggle existence. He had fought his nature as hard and for as long as he could and it still pained him that the Ministry's Poster-Boy had been the one to trigger the inevitable, but he clutched at the thought that Ernest Hamilton was an argument that couldn't be ignored.

That being, he controlled his most primal instincts of hostility and animosity, swearing to himself that he wouldn't give in to the urge to literally get rid of Potter.

At least not until the blasted boy did something that would justify his crime in any court.

Or maybe not in front of so many witnesses.

'Potter' he drawled irritably as the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort finally stood before him with a knowing smile that made his scowl deepen.

He should have known. The letter he had gotten from Piotr Antokolsky didn't let on in any way that is ex-most-hated-student would be there at the docks too, but then again Potter was just trying to make sure that Severus actually showed up. What in itself proved how little the brat knew him.

Severus Snape never went back on a decision, even if he damned himself in more than one way because of them.

He looked around himself, with a sneer that told Harry that his former professor was more than a little uncomfortable and displeased with the prospect of travelling with children and adolescents after so many years.

He could understand. For someone who had been known for his absolute aversion for any kind of pleasant contact or public display, the sight of several smiling and excited students and their relatives must bring the same amount of pleasure as that of a prolonged Chinese torture session. Without knowing why Harry was suddenly aware of the fact that Snape had never been at Platform 9 ¾ during his school days.

When screaming and laughing second-years brushed past them, he was brought back to the tall and brooding older man in front of him. Harry had been mindful of not even daring to extend Snape his hand or give him any other demonstration of greeting, it was more than enough that the once Slytherin Head of House hadn't forwardly verbally abused him yet.

The Potions professor merely stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, glowering at anyone who attempted to look at him as he surveyed the scenario with his custom contempt. As Harry had found him weeks before, Snape was wearing muggle clothes and he obviously didn't like it one bit. It was indeed strange to see the "Old Hogwarts Bat" without his constricting and strict teaching robes, although his wardrobe clearly hadn't changed in color. Black trousers, black dress shirt and black suite, what pretty much only added to his bleak artistic public persona. He chuckled softly at the fact that most of the muggles that appraised "Severus Black", would never know that his impossible personality wasn't at all an act.

Well, the most shocking still was the fact that his hair wasn't only longer but also kept at the back of his head in the same fashion it had been every time Harry saw him since that accidental re-encounter at the gallery. He fancied that the other man also didn't look much older. Snape looked tense and irritated but then again that was the only version Harry had ever known, and as far he knew, it was simply the way the Potions Master was and had ever been. There were no more layers to him.

Well, except for the dutifully and wittedly honorable spy.

'Is everyone here already?' Severus groaned impatiently as a particularly fat purple-haired old lady watched him with unmasked curiosity as she jabbed her equally obese and completely bald husband on the ribs.

Turning his attention back to the infernal creature, which he without a second thought blamed for that definitely ridiculous situation, he waited for his answer.

Potter was grinning at some midget with long braids that Snape wouldn't be able to identify as a boy or girl even if his life depended on it, although the kid was most certainly no older than 13.

The Boy-Turned-Man-Who-Lived winked at the twitchy before looking over at him, his eyes no longer masked and his green eyes blazing even more with the rays of sunlight that bathed their left side. Severus noticed that the glasses were back, although they were of a more contemporary design and not those idiotic round spectacles.

As he, his former student and perpetual pain in the arse wore muggle clothes, the younger one opting for slightly baggy jeans and a clearly old and overly used mustard sweater – that bore many noticeable holes and stains – over a white shirt.

'No, not at all...' Harry answered at last, grinning as Katharine Lühmann blushed bright red and hurried her way after her giggling friends 'The kids are still arriving...'

Severus cursed darkly under his breath, narrowing his eyes. He looked at his muggle watch and realized that there were still ten minutes before Durmstrang's ship ported at the third dock of Rotherhithe.

Thanks to the reformations at London Dockland, the students had a limit time to embark under the protective wards that would be raised as soon as the vessel ported. Those wards were a combination of complex and altered notice-me-not and Confundus spells and charms. All to keep muggles and other unwanted audiences from seeing them. As it happened, they were merely under an ancient but precarious charm that provided something akin to an invisible bubble, what made them all gather too close to each other to Severus' comfort.

'Will we be the only two adults there?'

Harry had to hide his smirk at Snape's sudden unpleasant epiphany.

'I'm afraid, yes...' he said not sounding apologetic at all 'I'm the only one who leaves the castle during summer...'

When a group of bulky and suspiciously mischievous sixth-years passed their way, shushing themselves abruptly as one of them caught sight of Potter, Severus' scowl darkened impossibly and his lips curled in annoyance.

'Understandable' he grunted glaring at the boys.

'Why I leave?' Harry asked absentmindedly, nodding to a few parents that greeted him as they kept a wary eye on the dark man in front of him.

'Why the others professors stay behind.'

He chuckled softly but the sound was muffled with the sudden wave of powerful and old magic that always followed the imperious emersion of Durmstrang's ship.

Snape watched impassively the grandness as the imperious ship was finally above the Thames' water and not under it. Secretly he had always enjoyed to the sight of it, ever since Severus first saw the ship when he was fourteen and Hogwarts had once again been the chosen school to host the Triwizard Tournament.

His fascination for Dark Arts had naturally made Durmstrang highly interesting in the Potions Master's eyes. He had spent many years reading about the school, its history. One of his strongest frustration was the fact that he had never been invited to go there. Just one more thing he could easily blame on his father, adding another topic to an already long and unending list.

As soon as the gates were opened and the stairs magically rearranged themselves on solid ground, he was awaken by motherly cries, fatherly well wishes and general parental last admonishing and advising. When he was sure he wouldn't be able to stand it any long without hexing them all silent, Potter made the first decent offer he had ever done to him.

'Would you like to wait inside?'

With an exasperating growl he looked over at the prat, making sure that his question wasn't only obvious but it had actually been unnecessarily delayed.

'Very much so, yes' he drawled impatiently.

Harry turned on his hells quickly, trying to hide his knowing grin, motioning for the older man to follow him.

* * *

Inside the ship was as beautiful and ostensive, as it was incredible on the outside. There were several quarters that served as Hogwarts Express' compartments, and many students were already finding their way in. Magically the ship was enormous, more so than it already looked to be. Remembering what he had read during his school days, Severus realized that Surrey Docks weren't the only port they would stop at. Unlike Hogwarts, that pretty much made all of her students direct themselves to Platform 9 ¾, Durmstrang picked up her students over the Europe. 

It was better that way since most of the alumni body wasn't from England anyway.

'Our quarter is the first one...' Potter's voice pierced his musings kindly as they reached the front of the ship.

Admittedly the further they went the older and scarcer were the student's conglomerations. Snape knew that some of them were bound to recognize him, or at least try really hard to know where they had seen him before. His face had graced the Daily Prophet more times than he cared to count since Dumbledore's' – since he left Hogwarts many years before.

'Here...'

Severus stopped at Potter's polite acknowledgement, and found himself before wooden doors, and carved sea monsters, mermaids and Nordic wizards and witches. After a second glance he noticed that the history of Durmstrang's founders had been draw on that hard and dark surface.

Without further ado, the Golden Boy pushed the seemingly heavy doors and mannerly stepped in before he turned and gestured the older man inside. What he saw would have aghast any unprepared visitor but obviously didn't earn anything other than a slightly raised eyebrow from Severus Snape.

The ex-spy took in the impossibly luxurious interior. Silken curtains, Persian rugs and expensive furniture decorated the largest compartment he had ever seen.

'One quarter?' was all he allowed himself to say.

'Yes...' Harry replied as he closed the doors behind them 'Actually it used to be two magically altered quarters... But a former Headmaster had a tad megalomaniac issue and decided to make some modifications...'

The hint to Karkaroff was clear in the sarcastic tone, and Snape's eyebrow rose higher though he was sure to make it go back to it's normal place before Potter got a glimpse of it.

'I see' he drawled unsurprised.

Soon Severus indulged in the younger man's little tour, sneering unconsciously at the thought of the dead Russian Death Eater. Igor had been a joke, even during the Dark Lord's prime time but on his behalf he hadn't been the only one. All of them had joined with the wrong purposes and many had misguided aspirations, Regulus Black being the epitome of the two.

Snape stilled dreamed with Black's younger brother's demise, the way he and other Death Eaters had been ordered to put an end to what their leader – who back then already shouldn't be even named – had called "endless cowardly babble" and " annoying unintelligible whining". That night had been the beginning of the end for Severus, even if at the time he was too blind to recognize the nightmares as they were; unconscious signs of desperation, as his mind tried to gradually warp itself around a truth his heart had known all along.

'It'll only take a couple of hours more than the Express does to get to Hogwarts...' Potter interrupted his thoughts once again, and not unwelcome for a change. Although he probably would never know, not with the frown he was presented with.

'You've got your sea legs?'

Harry saw by the subtle way Snape's eyes widened lightly, his facial muscles completely frozen and his eyelids blinking twice slowly that Severus had started. Potter had no idea of how he had noticed something like that, specially when that reaction only differed from his former professor's detached mask by the slight narrowing of his onyx eyes.

'My what, Potter?' he asked lazily and bored, crossing his arms over his chest.

'Do you get seasick easily?' Harry asked in his kind and solicitous voice, watching as the ex-Death Eater scowled at his polite manners 'Do you have migraine or auras? Claustrophobia perhaps? Even though we'll "sail" underwater these are common reactions, specially in a first trip, and taking in consideration that it is not advisable for us to go to the deck for the matter...'

Severus waved a dismissing hand and turned his back on Potter, walking swiftly to the huge couch at the end of the main room.

'I've got my sea legs just fine, Potter' he interrupted impatiently.

Choosing to ignore the irritation that tone always brought - and that made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand to no end as his magic urged him to an outlet he had long ago learned to breath out – Harry merely nodded thoughtfully with a pleasantly blank expression.

'Good...' he said politely as if he actually cared.

Before Snape could even snort at the tone of his voice, Harry tilted his head the side with a far off look on his face for a few seconds before there was a firm yet apologetic knock on the doors.

'I'll get it...' he said readily.

Severus merely shrugged his broad shoulders as he sat on the couch, making himself comfortable. As he waited, Snape indulged in a talent he had once mastered but that now was considerably out of practice.

So many years among muggles made him deny his senses and acute attention the pleasure of overhearing conversations, something he had sharpened when he was a schoolboy. It was thanks to this natural talent that he avoided many pranks Black and his sycophants planned for him, as well as saving his life more than once both as a willing Death Eater and then as a guilty spy.

He waited as Potter opened the door slowly, greeting whoever was outside with a general greeting. Without any name being mentioned at first, Severus had no other option but to study the muffled words that he could barely hear coming from the still opened doors. It didn't take him long to identify that polite and juvenile voice.

'Prof. Potter...'

'Ernest, hi... Where's Michael?'

Racking his mind after information as the Boy-Who-Lived clearly brought Mr. Hamilton inside their quarter, leading him to where he was, Snape was suddenly reminded that Michael was the boy's older brother and his only relative and family.

He also identified the fondness in Potter's voice and the relaxed way the student talked back to his professor.

'He decided to stay at shore...' Ernest replied readily with a hint of harmless sarcasm in his voice 'He's not feeling very good as it is... He ate some bad seafood last night, while he was trying to make some sort of amusing statement about my sixth-year and personal life in comparison with an octopus and a clownfish...'

Harry allowed himself a rich but subdued laugh that otherwise wouldn't have left his mouth, but that the boy beside him and his exaggerated roll of eyes inspired.

'I see...' he chuckled 'And that backfired...'

'You can say that...' Ernest grinned at his professor, walking confidently beside Potter until he halted his steps and his smile froze on his face 'Oh... Mr. Snape, sir...'

The expression of utter surprise and discomfort, not to mention embarrassment, was more than enough to let Severus know that his presence had been finally acknowledged. Nodding once, he didn't even bother to stand up as the younger men walked closer to where he was.

Potter was seemingly none the wiser about the sudden tension and Hamilton looked like a deer caught on headlights.

'Nice to see you again, young Mr. Hamilton' he drawled tonelessly.

Harry placed a hand over Ernest's shoulder, squeezing it supportively as the boy schooled himself again. He had always marveled at his student's self-control and couldn't help but be intrigued by the way Ernest showed his nervousness when around Snape.

Surely the git was what childhood nightmares were made of, unpleasant as hell and just as nasty, but normally Hamilton had a better hold of his emotions than that. He gathered that it was the fact that the boy had been caught off-guard and in that regard his next squeeze on the adolescent's shoulder was undoubtedly apologetic.

'Nice to see you too, sir...' Ernest replied calmly, his face politely impassive although there was a tinge of pink of his cheeks and neck 'I'm really sorry for barging in, I didn't know you had company, Professor... I will-'

Snape watched as the student turned determinedly, obviously desperate to leave the room and composure himself. But at Potter's immediate frown and the fact that his hand's hadn't left the youngster's shoulder, Severus was sure that young Mr. Hamilton wouldn't get his way out that situation easily.

He bit back a grin when the boy sighed almost imperceptibly but clearly dejectedly.

'Don't be silly, Ernest...' Harry countered, confused by the other's reaction, and placed both his hands over Hamilton's shoulders – effectively positioning the boy in front of him – as he focused his attention on the deceivingly blank eyes that watched the them 'Ernest always accompany me on the trip from and back to Durmstrang... I just don't like to stay here alone and he finds in himself the patience to stand me for more hours than he is forced to...'

Severus only gave another firm nod, watching the way the boy blushed to the roots of his hair in a crimson shade. Apparently what was really happening with his student was unbeknownst to Potter, for he ruffled the younger one's hair lightly and gently pushed him forward and towards the couch Snape was currently sat on.

'As you are here already, Ernest... I will let you know the news first...' he grinned when the boy looked up in earnest at him 'Prof. Snape will be your Potions professor this year...'

That obviously made the boy start. Severus waited for what the silence would bring as in slow motion big, sparkling dark amber eyes locked with his own, showing a thirst and awe that he had rarely seen. Gathering all the emotions he had captured on the boy from their last encounter, Snape was suddenly reminded of Potter's assurance that Ernest Hamilton would provide him all the motivation he needed to take that job.

'Really?' was the childishly anxious question that Ernest couldn't hold back, as well as the pleased widening of his darkening eyes.

'I believe so, Mr. Hamilton' the Potions Master offered noncommittal.

That seemed to be all the information the dark blond youth needed to fit back into his controlled and appraising demeanor, the same stance Snape had witnessed little more than one month before.

'Welcome to Durmstrang, sir.' Ernest supplied calmly, despite of his steely restrained excitement, before he added with a sincerity so pure that could have made Snape curl his lips 'It'll be an honor to be in your classroom this year...'

To Harry's everlasting surprise, the ex-Death Eater didn't respond with his usual cutting sarcasm. Again he noticed that the older man seemed to accept from Ernest Hamilton what he normally would never accept from anyone else, at least not without a sneer or deprecating comeback.

'I hope you will prove your old professor's recommendations, Mr. Hamilton' was all the other drawled with a tiny hint of boredom that could in no way be translated as the dislike and underestimation he had offered to everyone Potter had ever cared about.

Even if they indeed deserved the old man's acknowledgment.

'I have to say I am undoubtedly much more difficult to please.'

'I will make my best, Professor'

Severus saw the set look on Hamilton's face, as well as the impudent – albeit highly impressive – effort the younger one made to hold his gaze. It had been years since he found such spite on someone so young, and it had been even longer since such audacity inspired his attention in a favorable way.

Ever since he had caught a young silver-haired little toddler, trying to conceal himself in shadows at the mere age of 5 only to get a glimpse of him and to, of course, overhear one of his conversations with Lucius Malfoy.

There it was.

There he was again, the same memory, the same wraith that had been haunting him for exact 14 years. The same guilt, the same despicable feeling of failure. It was only when his eyes inadvertedly danced above the face of the boy in front of him, making him get a glimpse of curious and studious green orbs that he berated himself for those milliseconds of vulnerability and was brought back to the matter at hand.

'We'll see about that' he challenged slightly, pinching the tip of his nose with the tip of his thumb and forefinger.

Taking that blank answer as a dismiss, and taking note of – as well as accepting – the challenge offered, Ernest nodded confidently once before he squared his shoulders and turned to his professor again. Harry noticed that the younger man didn't have the nervous look he had had before, although the solemnity he gave to the situation was etched in his amber yes.

'I'll leave you two alone then and look for some of the others...'

The boy didn't let anything show in his voice and eyes but Severus identified that stiffness on his shoulders and the blankness on his face. The youngster looked far too concentrated to do something unimportant such as going out to join his fellow students.

Again Snape was unusually assaulted by a memory that echoed very well with the posture of the adolescent in front of him. This time the reminiscence wasn't of a fair young rich boy but that of a broody and terse young man; too thin, too tall and who had the disconcerting need to push away anyone who came too close.

'Stay Mr. Hamilton.'

The room went silent and it took Severus a while to realize that indeed he had been the one to utter those words.

Harry frowned lightly, staring at his former professor and trying with all his might to comprehend what the older man wasn't letting show. It wasn't the first time that he had been stumped by thing Snape said, did, or refrained himself from doing, but it was only the second time that he was able to mask his reaction.

Waving a bored hand over the couch, the Potions Master showed a hint of sneer before clearing his throat and drawling lazily.

'I'd like to have a full report on what you have learned for the past five years and you are most certainly the choice, for Mr. Potter here might end up mistaking some stages of his scholar duty.'

It was Harry's chuckle that dissipated the tension, made Severus' scowl come back full force and only increased Ernest's confusion. He looked up at the young man he had learned to respect greatly when his hand moved to the back of his head, as it always did when his professor was somewhat relaxed or reassured.

Of course, that didn't keep him from blushing deeply but it was still welcomed.

'He means that you won't lie to him about what I taught you and I will...' Harry grinned unruffled at his student as they moved to the couch.

'I know, sir...' Ernest said carefully, before adding to the darker man with unquenchable honesty 'And I really won't, sir...'

Once the other two were sat, Severus felt a cold and quick tighten of his insides that indicated that Durmstrang's ship was once again submerging as it was it's nature.

Allowing himself to contemplate once again what the bloody hell he was doing, Snape sneered at the smirking face of Harry Potter before focusing all his attention on the eager dark amber eyes of Ernest Hamilton.

'Very well' he grunted.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

_Amazingly beta-ed and edited by the equally amazing BunnySummers _

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* * *

_**

He honestly wished he could define those hours inside those magically enlarged quarters as a dull waste of his precious time, but he couldn't. It should have been an excruciating exercise in patience, talking about everything this adolescent had in five years; from the brewing of decidedly easy draughts to a first-time success at brewing a Dreamless Potion. The truth was that time hadn't passed so swiftly for Severus Snape in years. Ernest Hamilton was a good listener and an outstanding student; he clearly hadn't merely memorized a few ingredients just to impress his no doubt pathetic professor. No, the boy really did have a breathtaking aptitude for the craft. He researched, read, tested, and invented, making many mistakes, but also getting a few things right and all of this at the mere age of 15. To say that Snape was absolutely fascinated would be an understatement; he was agog and very much inspired to start that year.

Severus let the youth talk. So interested was he in what Ernest had to say, Severus even forbore the interruptions of the Blasted-Boy-Who-Lived.

It was this rare display of tolerance that told Harry just how much his former professor was actually enjoying their conversation. Sure there were the expected derogatory comments and acidic anecdotes, mostly at his own expense, but Harry noted that the subject never strayed too far from potions. Given their long and antagonistic history, Harry figured that Snape's sniping was an ingrained response to his presence and that the man felt at risk to eternal damnation if he failed to verbally attack "The Golden Boy" when the opportunities presented themselves

Ernest, for his part, contemplated the duo, as he listened to Master Snape's bored, yet sneering drawl voicing his opinions on the latest discoveries from those the Wizarding World called potion's geniuses and whom he called "pathetic excuses for brewers". He listened attentively to every cuttingly insightful word the older man said, and decided that he was likely even more brilliant than Professor Potter had ever let on. On the other hand, with every snort and sneer, Ernest felt sure that the Potions professor was every bit as difficult to please as Professor Potter had claimed.

As far as Ernest could see, Severus Snape had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, especially knowledge of a questionable type. He could understand that, as a Potions Master, Snape would want to talk to him about the properties and complexities of the Blood Reducing Potion. However, when it came to a discussion of the ethics of its many varied and questionable uses, Snape's glowering black eyes grew enticingly darker, giving lie to the impassivity of his face and contemptuous tone of his voice -- here was passion

Professor Potter, on the other hand, was completely different. His focus was on healing and restoring potions, as well as those which could help victims of the Dark Arts. The way he taught was a testament to Professor Potter's beliefs. Everyone in Ernest's year knew of – even if they would never successfully brew it – the Draught of Peace and the Strengthening Potion.

Ernest knew that he was at Durmstrang for reasons other than that of being a werewolf or that both his father and older brother had attended. No, it was that he had always been interested in the Dark Arts, a fact that no one would associate with a rather scrawny and extremely polite child. Most of the wizarding world looked on the study of the Dark Arts with suspicion, fearing their corrupting influence. However, Ernest was already a dark creature and had been since he'd been bitten at the tender age of 5. He was more than aware that once a person had been touched by Dark magic, life was never the same again, but he sincerely doubted that anything, not even the study of the Dark Arts, would have the same impact on his life as finding himself a monster and an orphan in the same day.

Severus could see the desire for knowledge, understanding, and a reckless detachment for the consequences in the depths of Mr. Hamilton's rich amber eyes. The adolescent was everything most his age weren't: subdued, patient and focused. In those hours of the journey, there was never one moment when the boy seemed to drift off in his own reverie or be bored enough to look visibly uninterested. He was with two men, who together were more than 50 years his senior and he actually seemed to be comfortable and intellectually engaged.

Harry knew his student's unblinking focus and the nods at the end of every phrase to be a sign of absolute attention and appraisal. He knew that Ernest would appreciate Snape in a way Harry had rarely ever seen anyone so young do. He remembered that the Slytherins back in his time at school looked up to Snape, they respected him, but few, if any of them claimed to actually like him.

The only one who seemed remotely close to liking Snape had been Malfoy, who only seemed to drop his absurd devotion to his Head of House's classes, if he had the opportunity to snarl or laugh at Harry. Although, truth be told, Malfoy could simultaneously mock and brew with no ill effects to the potion at hand. As a student, Harry had believed that Malfoy's good grades were solely as a result of Snape's favouring his own house, but as a professor of potions came the realization that, favouritism aside, Malfoy more than deserved every one of the Potions professor's compliments. The fact that Hermione had also deserved compliments and had not received them, Harry could definitely put down to Snape's favouritism of all things Slytherin and dislike of all things Gryffindor.

It was only when Harry began teaching potions himself that he realized that Malfoy had really been exceptionally good at Potions. Harry didn't know why that thought suddenly hit him square on the head, but hit him it had during his second year teaching at Durmstrang. It had been nearing the end of a third-year class and he had asked his students to hand in their potions samples. The results were less than impressive. Of the sixteen boys and girls in the class, there had been only one who had actually gotten the draught right. One of them had even turned it into a corrosive substance that had made a five-inch wide hole on his desk. But what had really hit him was a sudden memory from his own school days.

Snape had assigned them the same draught. If he remembered correctly, Neville had also managed to create the same; or a very similar, acid substance as Harry's student and, predictably, Snape had been a git to him in front of the whole class.

He and Ron hadn't even gotten close to the correct brew, but Ron had gotten away with it while he hadn't. Snape had questioned both his mental and motor abilities. The final potion should have been fuschia in color, but Harry's had been deep purple and Ron's a maroon that not even Hermione could explain. Even with the rainbow of colorful vials on Snape's desk, Harry was acutely aware of seeing two vials with the right color. At the time he hadn't paid it much attention because he was too busy gritting his teeth so he wouldn't tell his Potions professor to bugger off, but after many years he was assaulted by the obvious conclusion. One of the vials had been Hermione's – she had told him that he should have had stirred clockwise for 10 minutes then counter-clockwise for 10 seconds and not the other way around – and the other one could only possibly have been Malfoy's.

Blaise had once told him, in a shared drunken stupor during a New Year's Eve at the castle two years before, that Snape, contrary to popular belief, hadn't really cared whether any of the Slytherins were remarkably efficient at potions or not with the exception of one.

"In reality he couldn't care less, I guess," the former Dark Arts professor had slurred. "You have seen me brewing; I was only just passable at Potions. I couldn't brew correctly to save my life. At least, not if I only had time for one try," Zabini had joked, making Harry laugh.

"The only one from whom he expected results was Draco. We could all fail potions and he wouldn't give a damn, but if Draco was anything short of perfect, Snape would go berserk. Not so much with the yelling and other dramatic scenes you Gryffindors were so fond of," Blaise had grinned as he sipped a mouthful of firewhiskey from the bottle, "but with homework and such. Draco was the only one of us who had extra potions homework and sometimes lessons. He used to study for them like a lunatic."

Harry had seen Zabini look suddenly; impossibly sober before a haze took over his honeyed eyes as he shrugged.

"I remember one time in fifth-year, when Malfoy got Exceeded Expectations on some essay and your bushy-haired friend nailed it with an Outstanding, Snape didn't talk to him for two weeks and Draco was in a foul mood that only went away once he'd recovered that grade. They were both mental, I tell you..."

Harry didn't know how they had gotten onto that subject that night, but then their conversation had moved off onto another tangent and they never spoke of it again. Even now, Harry really didn't know why he even recalled that alcohol-induced conversation at all.

* * *

Ernest only left the quarters when they were about to put into port at the school. With a nod and a swift turn on his heels, the boy walked purposefully out, although not before expressing his controlled delight at having Harry Potter back and Severus Snape as his new professor.

Severus was unbelievably, although not visibly, relieved when Potter told him that he wouldn't have to make the trip to the castle with the students, but that they would be apparating to the front gates and then walking the rest of the way.

Like Hogwarts, Durmstrang didn't allow anyone except the Headmaster and impossibly powerful wizards and witches to apparate to or from the school, and even then said witch or wizard had to be allowed not only by the Headmaster but by the school itself. Taking into consideration that Durmstrang's walls were as picky and hard to please as their founders had been, the list was very small. Piotr had explained in his letter to Snape that the wards at Durmstrang were stronger and even more ruthless than people believed. The list of acceptable visitors who could apparate included: former students, parents or legal guardians of current students, or anyone accompanied by a current member of the school's staff. Once the school recognized him officially as a member of the faculty, Severus would be accepted by Durmstrang's wards. However, until that time he would clearly have to apparate with Potter, which called for skin-on-skin contact; a notion that irked him deeply.

Harry hid a grin when he realized that once again he had hold of Snape's hand, but this time he was indeed conscious of the contact, unlike that day at Diagon Alley. What really made him want to grin was the fact that Snape was fuming with indignation just as he had then and didn't wait much longer than necessary, after apparation, to jerk his hand violently from Harry's.

As the savior of the Wizarding World waved his hand to open the gates, he told the ex-Death Eater that the students would take at least half an hour to arrive, being led by prefects and the first-years being introduced to the school by one of the teachers.

Even in the cold and dim evening of that September first, Severus was aware of the wilderness and intimidating nature of school's grounds. The breeze was fierce and unyielding, piercing through the fabric of his thick coat, making it necessary for him to cast a warming charm. With a half moon high in the sky dimly lighting the way, Severus looked around himself as the other man led the way, noticing the silver reflection on several surfaces that he knew to be the four lakes that were part of Durmstrang's grounds.

The open space was breathtaking and surprisingly claustrophobic, thanks to the heaviness of the night and coldness of that area. After walking in blissful silence for over 20 minutes, which almost made him forget that there was anyone else with him, let alone that, that person was Harry Potter, Severus was able to see the lights and the gothic outline of Durmstrang's castle.

Unlike Hogwarts there were no towers, although in the total area covered, Durmstrang was the much larger school. The grounds were also more imposing and extensive, giving the students more space. According to history, the massive sprawl of the school had been absolutely necessary in order to house the massive battle of egos and wills inside its walls: a battle that had eventually culminated in the deaths of all four founders. Now the school continued to give its student body exactly that which had failed to save its founders their lives; space and privacy. The closer they got to the front hall, the wider and bigger it looked; reeking of pride, ambition, and ruthlessness, in a nutshell, everything that made a good Dark wizard or witch.

'Professor Snape...'

The pleasant tone was welcomed and, with a shake of his head, Severus finally realized he had been standing in that terrible weather, studying the architecture of the castle. He looked up to find ocean-blue eyes waiting patiently and respectfully for his onyx ones to focus so that they could get on with the formalities of his arrival. All the while Severus was unusually aware there was also another pair, eyes of a deep green, watching him unblinkingly and yet blankly. Frowning deeply, Severus finally crossed the threshold of the castle and was immediately engulfed by the warmth and protective wards that belonged to the school alone.

Harry watched as Piotr nodded and offered his hand to Snape, who accepted it without pause. The older man was now gazing intently at the walls, but the proffered hand of theHeadmaster brought him back from his musings. To Harry's surprise, the Potions Master readily accepted the offered hand, just as he had Ernest's weeks before.

'Mr. Antokolsky,' he said plainly as a form of greeting.

The younger man smiled in politely, gesturing his former professor inside the castle once his hand was released.

'I didn't believe Harry when he told me you'd come to work with us,' Piotr began, placing himself between both his professors, new and old, 'I thought that not even Harry would be able to convince you.'

Severus sneered, his eyes flitting over the walls instead of focusing on the young Headmaster. Piotr took that opportunity to briefly study the Potions Master. Snape hadn't changed much, he realized. In fact, he actually looked a tad younger, although still characteristically impatient and irritated.

'Ah, Piotr, I don't believe I had a thing to do with Professor Snape's decision to accept,' Potter's voice impudently supplied a reply that Severus clearly wasn't willing to give. 'Snape wanted to come and if that weren't the case, he wouldn't be here...regardless of what I had to say.'

Piotr had a hard time concealing his mirth at the sound of Harry's voice; he was using his "damage control" tone, the one his former schoolmate always used whenever he was trying to appease a particularly troublesome student or a certain vicious snake.

'You think I don't know that, Harry?' he chuckled kindly, smiling at Snape's annoyed and barely audible growl. 'I was only there one year, but that was more than enough time for me to learn that Severus Snape isn't a man who can be easily convinced of anything at all. Although, the contrary can't be said so surely.'

'It is an honor to have you here, Professor. An honor for both the school and for me.'

Now that the introductory pleasantries were complete, the ex-spy finally found that he had no choice but to speak to his former students. And even though all that could be heard was his disdainful drawl, Piotr was sure of its sincerity.

'Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Antokolsky.'

'Call me Piotr, Professor,' he replied instantly. 'It sounds wrong to have you call me that now, although you always have done. I guess that it just doesn't make much sense to do so now that we are colleagues.'

Completely focused again on the castle, Severus had enough tact to avoid a shrug as he followed the younger, former Slytherin through the school. The truth was that Antokolsky hadn't changed much. He still looked unusually tanned; his eyes were still breathtakingly kind and mischievous at the same time. In short, he was the same beautiful, tall, young man, althoughunquestionably older and wiser.

'As you wish, Piotr.' Severus supplied with an unbelievable hint of politeness.

Harry silently witnessed their interaction, unable to understand how they actually found it normal to act so completely detached from each other. Of course he wasn't waiting for Piotr to hug Snape, at least not if the Russian wanted to avoid a painful death, but he did expect a warmer reunion.

Suddenly, Harry became aware that they had stopped at the door to his own quarters and looked inquiringly at the Headmaster. Without any sort of explanation, the blue-eyed wizard nodded and the two men took their leave of Harry.

'Come Severus, I'll take you on a tour of the school.' He gestured that his former Head of House should follow him. 'The students must be on their way, but we will have enough time. Besides, there are things I am sure we must talk about far away from any Gryffindor-ish ears.'

Narrowing his eyes at being so summarily dismissed, not to mention being poked by a Slytherin, Harry couldn't help but cross his arms defiantly.

'Still the secretive Slytherin, huh, Headmaster?'

Severus saw the way Potter's eyes darkened; his face a forcefully controlled blank. It was the same expression he had seen whenever he successfully managed to seriously piss off the Golden Boy.

'Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, Harry. Am I right, Professor?'

Harry felt his jaw tighten, but not because of Piotr's harmless jest. No, it was more about Snape's belittling once-over and the nasty curl of lips.

'Indeed,' Severus drawled in contempt and without another word or look, turned his back on the young man.

The only improvement on the scene would've been the pleasurable sounds of forcefully slamming doors, but all things considered, Snape felt he had indeed begun this new school year on the right foot.

* * *

Over thirty minutes later, Harry found that most of his irritation had ebbed away. He could once again be in the same room as Severus Snape and Piotr Antokolsky without feeling like he was 15 all over again. Apparently, he wasn't the only one whose humour had improved. The Potions Master was undoubtedly in a better mood or at least he didn't look as if he was about to murder anyone on sight.

Both men took their seats at the staff table, something that had always bothered Severus tremendously. He had never been fond of being watched and that was just how he felt whenever he sat in front of hundreds of students during meals. It was one of the reasons why he had always preferred to skip them and endure Poppy's endless lectures, regardless of how repetitive she could be. Now, as any new member of the school's staff, he was yet again forced to sit through a meal as any other new member of the school's staff. It displeased him immensely, but after the tour Piotr gave him, their talk, not to mention the sight of his office, lab, and classroom, he felt he could stand the whole ordeal without being exceptionally unpleasant.

As House tables were being filled, Severus watched as boys and girls walked the stone floor with either awe or unworried familiarity. Their numbers were far fewer than he had been expecting and he indicated as much to the Headmaster. As the students continued to file in, Antokolsky explained that Durmstrang had suffered difficult years after the Dark Lord's fall. If they had been among those who had been looked upon with wary suspicion before The Fall that was nothing to the looks and treatment they received afterward. Wary suspicion and distrust had made way for chaos. Instead of getting closer and unifying, the Wizarding World threatened to do exactly the opposite and crumble apart. It took many to put some sense back into those dunderheads' minds; Potter's obviously being the strongest and loudest voice, but other voices had sounded alongside Potter's. All that was left of the Order, as well as other sensible wizards and witches from every front had done their best to make the survivors understand the obvious: it wasn't labeling it so that made a spell dark or light, but the purpose for which the spell was used.

After Piotr was urgently called to his office - something about a third-year who had been caught casting a Jinx Hex on a couple of muggles at the London Docklands – Potter continued where the Headmaster had left off.

'With the end of the War,' he started, 'we all decided that any action that could spark division or renew old grudges should be banned, particularly in an academic environment. We wanted our children to become closer and be tolerant of one another, not create an environment that fed endless and stupid animosity.'

'So Durmstrang no longer follows the House System?' Severus asked, annoyed at the necessity of speaking to Potter again.

'Yes... and no,' Harry answered politely, once again ignoring the older man's thinly veiled hostility 'Students here are still sorted into houses, although our House System here and other schools have changed significantly in the past years. The Houses are now more symbolic than anything, a way of bringing together students with the same interests. But it is no longer used as a way to seclude them from each other.' The younger man gestured to the four rows of tables before them, which were arranged much in the same fashion as those in Hogwarts' Great Hall.

'We still have the four houses: Brontë, Cottus, Nárhvalr and, finally, the Campe.' Potter continued, 'As you know, each one could be looked on as the equivalent of Slytherin, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively...well obviously, they only can, if you take into consideration a few of the peculiarities of Durmstrang's founders.'

'Each of Durmstrang's houses only accepts pureblood wizards with a predisposition for the Dark Arts or a dark family history.' Severus said accurately and received a nod.

'Any interaction between the houses was absolutely impossible for centuries,' Harry continued. 'Durmstrang's founders fought each other viciously over every facet of the school's administration. It wasn't so much a school administration as a bloody and, ultimately, deadly battleground, which none of the four survived. Their bitter rivalry was a point of pride with the school.'

'_Fiat iu stita et piriat Mundus_.'

Severus cited the school's motto as an after thought. He didn't see the way Potter suddenly looked at him before the younger man looked away with a slight frown.

'Exactly,' he replied simply, cleared his throat and then added, 'But now we're working to bring them together. Obviously, the competition is still strong but not taken to the same extremes and certainly not enough to permanently divide them. Piotr is very adamant about that. I didn't really understand the process at the beginning, but he clued me in to the plan.'

That piqued Snape's interest. 'Plan?' he asked blankly.

'Yes. We're working mostly with young men here,' Potter replied in a determined tone. 'Like other schools, explosive and morally ambiguous hormones tend to rule their behaviour. However, unlike other schools we've got to deal with the little matter of most of them being pureblood and the added effects that has on an already volatile situation. These boys, as well as the few girls, need attention and support and understanding, but mostly they must be unified. They are here because of their inheritance and, in being here, they are outcast. At the same time, they are just like any other boys and girls their age. They simply need a place to grow up in safety...emotionally, physically and magically.'

'To better monitor them,' Severus couldn't help but drawl snidely, intentionally latching on the worst meaning possible to Potter's words just to spite the Golden boy because something told the Potions Master that while this was a well-rehearsed speech, it was also undeniably honest. Still staring at the student body, flowing into the hall, he realized that Potter was indeed speaking the truth. Although, there were a few females numbered among the students, the greater proportion was of the male sex -- he'd estimate something close to ten to one.

Harry frowned, looking over at the older man for longer than his previous rushed, sideways glances. Unsurprisingly, he couldn't read anything on Snape's face. He didn't know if the man was seriously that sadistic or if he was just trying to piss him off by deliberately twisting his words. Knowing Snape, he figured it was both.

'No,' he said firmly, his green eyes intense, 'to better approach them, teach them...befriend them.'

In response to the strain that was clear in the younger wizard's tone, Severus threw him a challenging – and mocking – glare, crossing his arms over his chest in a pose that Potter knew very well.

Voice dripping with sarcasm, Severus asked, 'and is it working?'

Harry blinked once, then twice, his head tilted ever so lightly to the side as he held his former professor's gaze. However, his mind was very well blocked as had been his habit for many years. Hermione had told him once that he was just paranoid, that no one was likely to take a glimpse into his mind, but old well-learned lessons were not _un_learned. The former Death Eater had shaped him to understand and embrace the need to preserve his mind from any intrusion. It was something he that he had done unconsciously ever since he actually mastered Occlulmency, and he doubted he'd ever leave his mind open again.

At least, not unconsciously so.

'It is progressing rather well,' was all he offered as answer, earning himself a mocking snort.

They stayed silent for awhile, neither one looking into the other's eyes nor initiating any action that would ignite a confrontation. Severus knew very well that the blasted boy was once again testing him, but he couldn't fathom why. Previously, Potter had seemed willing for him to get a glimpse of his feeble mind, but this time the Potions Master was sufficiently certain that the Boy-Who-Lived was trying to goad him. Despite the most serene expression Snape had ever seen on his face, Potter's green eyes had a veiled but discernible blazing quality. The dark man bluntly ignored the challenge, raising his eyebrow and curling his lips.

'Are you a Head of House?'

Harry was momentarily disconcerted with the sudden change of topic; the question held a lot of derogatory amusement, but still served to successfully dissipate the sudden tension. He inwardly cursed himself for yet again letting Snape affect him in ways that he had promised himself he wouldn't. 'Grow the bloody hell up', Potter, he ordered himself.

'No.' he again cleared his throat quietly and forced himself to soften the intensity of his gaze. 'I wanted them all to know that they can come to me, regardless of what house they're in.'

'I thought you said that the old grudges were being expunged,' Snape countered annoyingly.

His tone only earned Snape one of Harry's kind and mirthful smiles, the ones that he was sure his former teacher had come to loathe

'We've got a long way 'til we've expunged them all,' Harry stated mildly. 'As it is, I am glad that they are more or less peacefully coexisting.'

It was all Severus could do not to roll his eyes, instead moving his attention back to the hellions who were getting louder by the second. Several groups had already formed all over the hall; all of them talking conspiratorially and sending meaningful and malicious glances to the others tables and students.

'In comparison with them cursing and hexing each other at the corridors?'

Potter chuckled, pleasantly grinning as he caught a glimpse of some of his most difficult students, most of them staring and gossiping among themselves. The new presence at the staff table was almost certainly their main topic of conversation.

'Obviously,' he said, grinning at a particular pair who had made his life very difficult during their first and second years at the school, and who were currently sporting such wide smirks that their canines were showing.

As the two professors fell silent again, Piotr returned with a fierce frown wrinkling his brow that only disappeared when Madam Inas leaned over to speak to him. Harry scanned the room, trying to figure out who was actually missing in an attempt to pinpoint the mastermind behind the incident at the docks. But before he could begin his search effectively, Snape's voice brought him back to the present.

'Mr. Hamilton'

He frowned lightly, trying to read the toneless inflection of the ex-Death Eater's voice while furiously trying to understand what he meant by it.

'Yes?' Potter asked, distractedly and slightly out of sorts, 'What about Ernest?'

Severus groaned his impatience, waiting for the incompetent ninny to finally see the dark blonde curls of Mr. Hamilton, now that he had finally arrived in the hall. The boy had stood at the doors for a while, narrowing his eyes as they ran over the Houses' tables and the staff table. When Ernest found Potter he smiled lightly, but didn't march to his bench until his eyes had locked with bottomless black ones. The adolescent nodded his acknowledgement and only broke the eye contact when Severus did the same.

'In which House is he?' he barked, clearly irritated.

Harry was so caught off-guard that he didn't even answer the question right away, nor did the tone Snape used get to him.

Much.

The older man groaned under his breath, seeming to interpret Harry's silence as hesitance, for which Harry was decidedly grateful. Better the Potions Master think he was deliberately stalling, rather than figuring out that he had stumped Harry silent.

Again.

'Don't tell me he's a Cottus,' Severus warned, a slight growl creeping into his voice.

Finally, it dawned on Harry what the other really wanted to know. He shook his head at the irony of it all. Even here at Durmstrang, the once Slytherin Head of House couldn't ignore the eternal rivalry with the Gryffindors. As he had previously said, the Brontë House was the equivalent of the green-and-silver house at Hogwarts, while the Cottus were considered an echo of his own old red-and-gold house. It was worth nothing that Brontë had been the most ruthless and dark of all Durmstrang's founders, while Cottus was said to have been the most reckless and daring, and, not surprisingly the most loyal, of the four.

'No, he's actually a Brontë.'

Severus nodded thoughtfully and leaned back in his seat, his chin rising almost imperceptibly for a split second in the only gesture he would allow himself to outwardly show his approbation. In his childish musings, he had always thought he'd be a Brontë himself.

'Acceptable and fitting.'

Harry barely contained his amusement at Snape's comment, yet couldn't help chuckling as he again caught a glimpse of Ernest and winked at the boy.

'I don't find it hard to believe that you'd think so,' was all he dared to say, without having to fear for his physical health.

Before the older man could respond to his subtle jest, as Harry was very sure he intended, he was saved by the bell. Said bell was the bald, easygoing and suspiciously nice figure of another member of the staff.

'Professor Snape?'

'Yes?'

'I'm Dimitri Boyd, the Arithmancy teacher and Nárhvalr's Head of House. It is a pleasure to have you joining us this year.'

Knowing that both Antokolsky and Potter were watching him openly for his reaction to the pleasantness in the hoarse voice and light brown eyes of the oldest member of the school's staff, the ex-spy took his time, looking down at the small man.

To Piotr and Harry's shock, Severus Snape didn't completely ignore the man.

Predictably, Snape wasn't able to put up with Professor Boyd's unnatural good nature for long. He could take pleasantries, at least for a while, but he certainly couldn't force himself to endure the torture of a 30-minute conversation over the intrinsic similarities between brewing a potion and what he liked to call a "mindless counting of numbers". At least, he didn't have to suffer through Potter's babbling anymore, that unpleasantness currently falling to a green-haired witch on his right, said to be the Transfiguration professor and a metamorphmagus. He made a mental note to ask Piotr to change the seating arrangements at the main table, preferably with the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort at one end and he at the other. Snape couldn't even imagine what carnage could ensue from the two of them forced into a thrice-daily encounter. The very idea almost made him shudder. Thankfully, he was brought out of his morbid musings when the Headmaster stood up.

Apparently, another difference between the rituals at Durmstrang and Hogwarts was the fact that the beginning of year speech was given after the feast and not before.

It made sense. It was better to feed the beasts and get them into a gluttony-induced haze before boring them out of their bodies.

Piotr was still wearing his dark blue robe, a stark contrast to his crystal blue eyes. Severus had managed to change just before coming to dinner and was wearing the black robes he had used as a second skin for most his life. He once again felt comfortable, more so than he had in years. He wasn't the only one who had found time to change for dinner. Thankfully, Potter had had the decency to take off the hideous sweater he had been wearing and change into a black robe, one that wasn't nearly austere as his own, but still black and slightly imposing.

Unbeknownst to Snape, Harry was sure he'd never truly manage to make it billow.

Not that he had ever tried.

'Welcome,' Antokolsky began firmly, his voice warm with welcome, 'I see the dissidents are growing thinner each year.' He narrowed his eyes mischievously, scanning the hall for all the students who had dropped out of the school for one reason or another 'Dare I wish that this trend will continue in the coming years? That more of you will choose to stay with us until your schooling is complete? As it is, I am glad to see all the familiar faces...'

Two boys, who couldn't have been older than 16, began to whistle and clap, getting the attention of most of the other students, who either shook their heads at them or laughed appreciatively at their antics. They were both tall, impressively pale and, Severus was disconcerted to realize, had light, greenish-honeyed eyes. Their hair seemed to have the same buzz cut, but while the colour of one's was a bluish raven, the other's was light blonde. They reminded him inexorably of two of his own former students, who had made the prospect of life in the bowels of hell preferable to the reality of teaching them. The horrid, sinking feeling was intensified upon hearing the chuckle coming from his right, a teaching nightmare in his own right.

'You're looking at Johansson and Guberman,' Potter's insufferable voice softly supplied unasked. 'They're like an unrelated version of Fred and George Weasley'

Snape couldn't understand why the Golden Boy found that statement so bloody amusing. The prospect of teaching those two was abominable to say the very least.

'...and our young reinforcements,' Piotr continued. 'Before I allow you to go to your beds, I have a very important announcement to make. This year we will not enjoy the brilliant and supportive presence of our Dark Arts professor of four years and Brontë's Head of House, Blaise Zabini.'

Severus noted that many faces were scowling at these words, while others just stared at the Headmaster, stumped, before most of the student body began to talk amongst themselves. It would seem that Zabini's retreat wasn't expected.

'Because of this, following Professor Zabini's recommendation, Professor Ivanov will be Brontë new Head of House.'

Half of the aforementioned house's table seemed to dislike the news. Severus raised an inquiring eyebrow, but he didn't have a chance to say a thing before Potter was answering his silent question.

'Ivanov has wanted the position since he got here.' There was a hint of impatience in the green-eyed man's voice as he looked over to the only professor, appearing unperturbed by the student's clear rebellion against the decision. 'He's the Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Some of Blaise's students, especially the older ones, don't like him in the least -- more out of loyalty to Blaise than anything else -- but Ivanov is the best choice. He might not have 100 percent acceptance, but then again, I never knew how Zabini managed that feat,' Harry grinned, returning his attention to his old friend's welcome speech.

'There are other changes to teaching assignments that Professor Zabini's departure has made necessary,' the Headmaster's voice rose above the complaints over the Head of House appointment, effectively silencing the adolescents. 'First, Professor Potter will no longer be your Potions Professor.'

The renewed sounds of disappointment and displeasure rose in unison. Snape arched an eyebrow at Potter, who refused to look directly at him as he flushed slightly.

'Wait, please. I am not finished,' Piotr said calmly, obviously enjoying his professor's bashfulness. 'Professor Potter will no longer teach you Potions, but he will officially embrace the Dark Arts lessons.'

The response was instantaneous and extremely voluble. Severus noticed that the two students Potter had identified as Johansson and Guberman were clapping and roaring their approval. Nor did he miss the irony in Antokolsky's phrasing. The young Mr. Hamilton was the only one who remained impassive, as he talked to one of his housemates.

'I am very pleased to see that you accept these changes with enthusiasm,' Piotr said in clear amusement, ignoring Potter's soft but audible groan. 'Finally, I would like to introduce you all your new Potions Professor, the highly-qualified Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape.'

As one, all of those juvenile faces turned towards him. The response wasn't as noisy or enthusiastic as it had been for Antokolsky's other news, but he didn't really expect anything else. Suddenly, the sound of clapping started to fill the Hall. It had, it would seem, started at the end of the Brontë's table, from somewhere close to a certain dark blonde youth.

'Very well,' the Headmaster grinned again. 'You may go now. Good night and good year!'

* * *

**Author's Note: **

Clearly I made up Durmstrang's motto. "**_Fiat iu stita et piriat Mundus_**" (Let justice be done though the world's destroyed) was borrowed from the comic and movie character John Constantine, who has that very phrase carved on his lighter in the film. Taking in consideration Constantine's self-destructive personality, and my own ideas on Durmstrang's founders – and therefore the school's – history, that was the best dubious motto I found for an institution that is admittedly dark and immersed in the Dark Art.

As for Durmstrang's Houses name choice:

**Campe** ("crooked") was a female monster in Greek mythology, and a she-dragon with a woman's head and a scorpion-like tail.

**Brontë** is an altered version of Brontes ("thunderer"), the name of a Clycoples in the Theogony.

**Nárvhalr** ("corpse whale") is the Old Norse word from wich the name "Narwhal" was derived, commonly known as the moon whale.

**Cottus** (The Striker or the Furious) was one of the Hecatonchires, three gargantuan figures of archaic Greek mythology.

Also the name of Madam **Inas**' name is Arabic and means "making someone comfortable".


	6. Chapter 6

_Dedicated to Severus Snape for his birthday._

* * *

**Chapter Six**

As he turned the page slowly not to cause any unwanted damage to the rare and ancient potions journal Durmstrang's Headmaster had given him as a welcome gift, Severus tried really hard to ignore the sight the window on his left presented him with.

For one, the day was clouded and grey and therefore there was nothing that should awake his interest in whatever happened outside his new office. He had never cared, so why should he start to in that moment?

But the problem was that before he could overlook the way the sun fought with the clouds, causing a pale and yet smashing luminescence to fall upon the impossibly green grass, the enormous trees and the breathtaking mountains that surrounded the castle.

The school's ground was just as unbelievably wild and harshly beautiful as he had suspected late night when he arrived. The difference when compared to Hogwarts was obvious, and even though the weather was rather oppressing and truthfully discouraging (something that he knew would only grow exponentially worse as they neared the last months of the year), Snape couldn't help but feel quite inspired.

He blamed it all on his damn decision of holding a blasted muggle camera. As it happened, every time he betrayed himself enough to let his gaze move to the window, he couldn't stop but think about all the most precious pictures he could take and the most perfect angles to every single one of them.

It was shameful really.

He had spent months trying to find an inspiration. He had traveled, planned, and in a moment of utter desperation he had gone as far as try to find it as he walked all over bloody London with no real direction. The only thing he got from that was finding the Golden Boy, and letting himself be convinced to do something he _knew_ he didn't need anymore in his life.

In that moment, he didn't know what was proving to be more of a struggle: to get his mind off the amazing journal Antokolsky had gifted him with; or the new, and therefore still weak, and very hard to ignore, urge to get his camera and satisfy the photographer that he had allowed growing inside himself like a damn evergreen.

After the supper the night before, Severus had joined the rest of the staff at Piotr's office. In his opinion it had been a completely unnecessary attempt to sparkle any type of relationship among the professors. In all his years at Hogwarts, Snape could count in one hand the times he actually approached any of his co-workers, except Minerva and Poppy surely, when conversation wasn't absolutely necessary.

He wasn't known for his social skills, never had been and never would be, but for his former student's, and current boss' sake he wasn't particularly unpleasant to anyone. Not even Potter did he berate during those agonizing 90 minutes.

The good thing was that he was able to watch everyone as inconspicuous as possible since they all got his message loud and clear, never pushing for a conversation for long.

He figured that two of the members of the staff were actually smart enough to be intelligible. Truthfully one of them was Piotr and the other was the strawberry-ish blonde he had learned was Sergei Ivanov. Maybe the fact that Potter and Ivanov weren't the best of colleagues, and their interaction never lasted more than 5 minutes of affected politeness, contributed to Severus' surprising tolerance of the Care of Magical Creature professor, but it wasn't something he'd linger on. He had actually found someone other than a Slytherin to be around of and to talk to, that was as far as he could push himself.

One thing he noticed was that indeed Antokolsky and Potter were the youngest professors, the once Boy-Who-Lived being the only one under thirty. Unsurprisingly Snape wasn't the oldest, that position going to Boyd who was nearing his 90's but between Severus and his former students was only Ivanov in his early 40's.

It was, to wizarding standards, a highly young staff. Normally Severus would be the youngest, especially then when he was the only one in his prime age, close that he was to his 50's. It was slightly disconcerting not to be the youngster, he found.

Very refreshing, but still slightly disconcerting.

After that nonsense was dealt with, Snape bid his formal cold appreciation for the welcoming treatment and left to his new rooms.

They were nothing like what he had been used to for years. A very humbling and sacrificing childhood (in more ways than one) had made him utterly adaptable to almost every habitat, and whatever hadn't been molded forcefully by his father, Voldemort sure as hell took care of.

His very own idea of luxury had been forever simplified by many factors – and other people's sadism – so his rooms at Hogwarts had always impressed him greatly. Of course, everything that happened to him after he left the school only strengthened his earlier convictions.

Leaving for the muggle world hadn't changed him in the least, not even when he had control enough over his life to buy his very own residence. His priorities were simple, a bedroom, a bathroom and many shelves for his dear books and journals. The only luxuries he actually allowed himself were a neat and more than adequate lab, where he could brew in peace and in all the best of qualities, and a kitchen. The latest was more a necessity than anything, no more house-elves, no more food appearing out of nothing, which meant Severus Snape had to go back to cooking.

He didn't mind it half as much as he would probably make it sound if anyone bothered to ask him about it.

Durmstrang's facilities were fairly more ostensive than what he was honestly used to though. He had only taken one quarter of his literary belongings, but it was clear that his over 4 hundred books of choice weren't enough to fill the space left on all the shelves in his study, what alone was about trice the size of the one he had had at Hogwarts. His private quarter was ridiculously big too, the bed occupied about one third of the room and it was made of the finest material, everything from the wood to the linen of the bed sheets.

His bathroom was twice the one at his house at London, which was alone twice the size of the loo back at his old school.

But what truly impressed Severus, and he didn't discard immediately as pathetically petty, was his new laboratory. Even though it was under the schools ground, in a dungeon, and connected to his classroom, the room was large and enchanted enough to be perfect for a Potions Master's most eccentric desires, imaginary and ambitions.

It was only after he saw that one room that Snape realized that indeed, taking that job hadn't been such a bad idea.

Stiil, after one night of slight rest, with his most primal instincts still protesting and refusing to make him relax fully, he was beginning to give that conclusion a second thought. It wasn't that Severus had started to dislike his new chamber, even though he was sure he'd never truly feel comfortable with its magnitude, but the fact that he'd only be able to enjoy the privacy of his lab after a whole day with demented dunderheads put a damp on things.

Again he was requested to make an appearance during breakfast, in which he ignored Piotr's pleased smirk and Potter's presence vehemently. He drank his coffee in silence, noticing that apparently the Golden Boy wasn't as fond of innocuous chat at early hours too.

Unfortunately, that didn't apply to some of his other fellow workers, especially Prof. Boyd and the woman at Potter's left side, who he learned was Natasha Feist and whose hair was currently purplish blue. Severus had never had the patience needed to appreciate and endure metamorphmagus' apparent phobia of common sense.

It had been after all the very reason that made his conversations with Nymphadora Tonks absolutely impossible.

And why he was the only one who actually called her by the name she hated, only for the sake of being annoying.

Once he had discouraged Prof. Boyd enough to make sure the man never tried to talk to him before he had taken his first cup, or while he took it and the few seconds necessary for it be refilled and for him to drink it again, Snape pushed his chair back and left with his robes billowing.

As he waited for the incompetents to find their way to his classroom, he finally was fed up with his artistic side enough to enchant the window in his study shut. That done, the ex-Death Eater focused on the lessons he'd give that day.

He'd have two periods with a group of fifth year formed by Brontës and Cottus. After lunch, he'd have another two classes with the Náhrvalrs and Campes' 15 years old prats. Severus hated the fact that he didn't have to waste a long period of time organizing his teaching plan. The sad part of it was that he actually remembered the lessons he had used for over 20 years. Hell, if he focused just a little, he'd actually be able to deliver the same overused and highly intimidating lecture about the OWLs.

He sighed deeply.

As much as Severus refused to admit to himself, he wasn't quite sure that he was ready for that. It wasn't that he was afraid of putting up with those insufferable beasts, but the fact that he could easily bring up the professional and practical memories of the time he had spent at Hogwarts was enough proof that it was still too soon.

Because those memories brought others, that were just as practical and tinged with more professionalism than most would pour into them, in a harsh attempt to avoid any kind of emotional attachment to them.

Be it good, or bad.

Snape had learned as a young man to rip any meaning of every single one of his experiences during those years, so even after over a decade he could look back and feel nothing more than mild irritation and impatience. At least, that's what happened to all the memories he had purposefully dulled out during his hard training with Dumbledore; and with the help of his unquestionable mastery of Occlumency. When that talent was absolutely lapidated, and he had finally learned to relay on it – and _only_ on it – the general desensitizing of his life, past, thoughts and ambitions came naturally.

So much so that Severus couldn't remember the last time he had actually felt anything positive. He knew desire, anxiety, and he knew he could be passionate but mainly because the only feeling he allowed himself to keep at close range was his anger. It didn't mean he was angry, or infuriated, all the time, although he knew that was what most people thought. The thing was that whenever he truly felt something deeply and with unquestionable intensity, it was anger and hatred.

All the other times, he just couldn't be more aloof, more skeptical and mostly unapproachable; in any possible sense of the word.

So what made him think it was too soon; wasn't some sense of dubious nostalgia, or possible hurt feelings. It was the anger, the hatred, all those feelings attached to them that served him right, saved his life at the time and that he didn't want to deal with in such intensity in that moment.

It was ridiculous, and he knew it. There was no use in thinking about that, there was no use in allowing himself to stray and let those thoughts surface, reawake and haunt him again.

In the clear day time.

They already bloody well engulfed him in his sleep, and it was all he was willing to give them.

Better focus on the matter at hand, which was highly defining in itself. He'd start with the fifth-years, OWLs students, and that meant that they were supposed to be – in an idyllic world – 25 percent ready for the exams, and that was an optimistic expectation. Severus, being the skeptic son of a bitch he was, was ready to give the brats the detailed and enlightening information that the large metal-made pot before them was called cauldron.

Fifth-years were important students to pinpoint the efficiency of former professors' presumed teaching abilities. They were half-witted, insolent chits but they should be right in the middle of the scholar pyramid.

They weren't as dense as the first-years, and didn't know one quarter of what any respected seventh-year should to get a lousy Acceptable for their NEWTs.

That meant that in about less than a minute he would find out whether Potter was as incompetent as Snape was sure he was, or if the Golden Boy had managed to surpass even the Potions Master's lowest underestimation.

He knew from Piotr that Potter didn't have a Potions master – just as well Snape's world had made sense again. Apparently the Savior had opted for masteries at Defense Against the Dark Arts, Healing and Charms, regardless he had been chosen for his the Potions professor position because he excelled in the craft and was one of the very few who knew enough to even pose as a half-decent Potions professor.

Antokolsky might have used terms like; "highly competent", "surprising aptitude", "absolute compromise" and "unquestionable success", but in a nutshell Severus knew that was the general idea his Slytherin was trying to convey.

The Headmaster also informed his once Head of House that it was due to Harry Potter that the Dark Arts discipline remained in the school's grade. According to him, the One Who Lived fought teeth and nail for that, going against any Wizarding Ministry or Govern around the world, who at the time of Durmstrang's reopening found that little mockery far too overrated and certainly morbid enough to put it to an end.

It was certainly disconcerting to learn that the very person who almost died, lost many, and was the very human badge of Light, was willing to move mountains to protect a school who could have not brewed Voldemort, but as well as built most of his Death Eating army.

Severus pondered about that, trying to figure out what was the move behind that public marketing stunt, but couldn't find anything. It simply didn't make sense. How someone fights his damn life against something, knowing that his life was maimed, battered, abused and destroyed over and over again because of that one thing, and fought just as determinately to keep it alive when he had the power to vanquish it once and for all?

He didn't ask anything, but that didn't mean he would stop wondering. Surely, Potter wasn't so bright as to have an underlying World Conquering Machiavellian plan under his sleeve.

Anyone else? Hell, yes.

Potter? Not a chance in all of Hades' empire, he was too much of a Gryffindor.

Yet, it didn't bode with all the righteous, arrogant and juvenile personality Snape had had to deal with for years.

Piotr even told him that if it wasn't for the Boy Who Defeated Voldemort, Hogwarts, Beaubaxton or any other wizarding school wouldn't even have DADA classes anymore. Back at that time, little over than 6 years before, the wizarding world decided that forget was better than learn, and everyone was willing to pretend the Dark Arts never existed. To solidify that, they were adamant to destroy any evidence of it, starting from schools' grades. The next step would have been libraries, for in their feeble war-marred minds, all the evil living shells of that abhorring knowledge were dead.

No one had dared to say anything against that seemingly general; and unquestionably optimistic, belief.

No one but Harry Potter.

That only brought Severus back to the same question that didn't leave his mind since then, as Antokolsky calm, and slightly dejected, voice informed him that the former bane of Snape's existence had claimed to be the living proof that DADA classes should be maintained, if not improved.

As for Durmstrang, Potter had then volunteered to supervise the school's plan and teaching methods on the subject, going as far as indicating one of his old schoolmates to the post – and the responsibility – of being the first Dark Arts professor after the Dark Lord's demise.

It had been bold, Severus had to give the prat that, and highly cunning too, for it proved to be an irrefutable offer. Regardless, it had also been foolhardily unplanned and highly stupid. He had always hated that in Potter, that unquestionable mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin characteristics. At least, to Snape's peace of mind, the pathetic Gryffindor trait always won.

Since Piotr didn't know, or didn't want to tell him, the real reasons and the implications of Harry Potter's endeavor, the Potions Master knew that he'd only get the answers to his questions if he ever actually pressed the boy about them.

That was not bloody likely to happen anytime soon, so he did what he always did when something about the petulant brat bothered him; he made himself get over it and ignore it. Besides, he had other things in his mind to focus on.

Like the fact that soon Ernest Hamilton would be in his classroom.

To say that Severus was looking forward to know what Mr. Hamilton really was in an every day potions class was an understatement. It'd be the very first test for the young man, at least as far as Snape's patience towards him was concerned.

Taking in consideration the lad's usual nervousness around him and the fact that he appeared to have heard much about him from Potter, as well as learned a lot during both their encounters, it was likely that Ernest was most certainly terrified of him.

That might as well be true to all the dunderheads, but young Mr. Hamilton had something to prove. He had to make sure that Severus Snape didn't doubt for one sec that he indeed had a brain.

It wasn't a very easy mission; many, many, _many_ had failed beyond chance of redemption. All his plans regarding that year, and how he'd deal with the challenge he had accepted, depended on the next minutes and how Ernest would flare under pressure.

Snape felt a tingling on the back of his mind, something that could be the beginning of a headache, and it would develop into one later that day he was sure, but that in that moment signaled only the breaching of the wards he had placed in his classroom.

Closing the journal, and taking the time to carefully mark the page he had been reading, the brooding man stood and straightened his shoulders. With impatience and dissatisfaction marring his features, and a glare that could make even grown men swallow instinctively, he placed both hands over each door that separated his study from his classroom and pushed them open.

As his wards had warned him, every single one of the younglings were already seated. A quick look made sure that Potter had taken the time to pair them by their houses, mixing them all. It went with the whole idea, _plan_ as the Golden Boy had called the other night, of bringing those chits together and above the houses' rivalry.

With a second glance, Severus knew very well that it wasn't working. Arms were crossed, frowns were visible and muttering was heard. Well, at least it was before every single one of his students took notice of his presence. Then as one they stared wide eyed and fidgeted, looking at each other with an expression that bellied undeniable surrender, even if they were in greater number.

He could have smiled if he really even remembered how.

Without an introduction, the raven haired wizard barked for the student sat near to the door to close it – Stephan Stiano, who jumped so high on his seat that he almost landed on the floor at hearing his name – and without further ado turned his back on them swishing his wand over the blackboard.

'Open your books on page 75' he ordered, without looking at them 'Any of you can tell me anything about the Angelica Archangelica and its magical proficiency?'

Being the sadistic professor Severus had ever been, he absentmindedly moved to his desk, his lanky hair covering most of his face from view as he pretended to check something on the book he had there. From his peripheral vision, he could see only that one arm rose.

'Mr. Hamilton?' he said with contempt, as if the boy had been at fault for not offering the answer before, instead of rightly waiting for permission to do so.

'Suck up...'

Severus heard it. He hadn't been hated for years at Hogwarts for nothing. He could see better than most, hear even better and he actually smelled anything that could result in not only point deductions but also detentions to every single one of his students.

That teasing, mocking hiss wasn't as loud as it would have been from a misguided student who had never dared, or wasn't used to, talk in class. The inflection had arrogance and fear in equal proportions, which meant that the owner of said whisper was used to risk provoking his professor's wrath, all in the name of a good bullying.

He knew that tone of voice far too well; he had used it many times and been on the receiving end many others. As a Head of House, he had allowed it to slide over him unnoticed, or had cut it ruthlessly, it only depended on his mood and the student's house.

New as he was to Durmstrang, he decided to test those adolescents. They were after all the first contact he'd have with the student body, and the first ones to spread all sort of truth and mystical lie about him.

He crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at Hamilton who became slightly flushed in his silent outrage at the offense, as well as desperate to contain himself. That was the reason, Snape gathered, why the boy's voice was slightly strained.

'The Angelica Archangelica, commonly known only as Angelica, is an agent that excites or quickens the activity of the brain, and is a known healing and protective plant. Found mostly in well-watered mountain ravines, on riverbanks, in damp meadows, and in coastal areas of Europe and Asia, it can also be cultivated, but very few are able to do it.'

Impassively the ex-spy listened and watched, wearing the mask that infuriated and terrified his students so. The one that told them that he was just indulging in their imbecility long enough to bite their heads off once they stopped talking, all of that with good cause.

In reality, he was impressed. As the boy went on, he became more and more confident, forgetting quickly the insult and teasing to focus solemnly in the information he wanted to give. That was what was so impressive.

Ernest Hamilton wasn't trying to prove he knew the answer, he was honestly broadcasting the knowledge he had not only absorbed, but actually learned. His tone wasn't the same boring monotone he had heard from many know-it-alls, the mere fact that the young man was giving his answer with his own words, proved that he hadn't merely memorized the information.

He had filed it in his brain, filed it throughout and neatly for later use.

'Its roots, rootstocks and seeds are usually added to healing baths and prove to be highly effective in the undoing of several hexes, curses and spells. It is used in potions as a good, albeit uncommon, innocuous base for extremely demanding recipes that can turn poisonous and addicting if used regularly or in great amounts; such as the Veritaserum Potion.'

For a moment the younger one's amber eyes dulled out considerably as he blinked repeatedly, but his eyelids fluttered instead of widening with alarm and he continued.

'Angelica can also be used in healing incenses, mixtures and the smoking of its the leaves is said to cause visions, although the true nature of these "visions" is unknown, and to this day no one was able to prove that they were nothing more than mere hallucinations.'

Severus raised an eyebrow at the slight curl of lip at the mention of that pretense power of the plant. The lad's disdain for that speculation was obvious and quite amusing. His unabashed sarcasm was refreshing to say the least.

'Nancy boy!'

Again, the same malicious whisper. This time the tone was even lower, but harsher none of the less. The professor knew that inflection very well.

It was the one Sirius Black used whenever he knew that Snape hadn't let himself be goaded enough to give out a wrong answer, therefore saving himself from public humiliation.

The victorious, albeit subdued, grin that appeared momentarily on Hamilton's face – and that remained in his eyes even as he controlled himself and schooled his features again – wasn't new to Severus either.

'Correct, Mr. Hamilton. 10 points to Brontës' he drawled with the same tone that he'd have used to give one of them a detention, which explained Ernest's momentary start.

Snape's next step was to walk imposing around the classroom, between the student's desks, his impressive height even more astounding as he placed both his arms at his back, holding them to his body by his forearms.

Warily every young face followed him unblinkingly, as if waiting for him to strike at any moment, like a vicious and poisonous snake. In Severus' opinion that only proved that they weren't as idiotic as he was prone to believe them to be.

It was a Durmstrang trait no doubt. There was no blinding trust, no unplanned actions, or waste of time on futile strategies. They were wary, aloof and cunning, but most of all deceiving and suspicious.

Of course, the degree of each characteristic changed for every Durmstrang's house, but they were still inherent traits of every single young mind in that school. The scholar program there focused on practical knowledge, everything that would ultimately save the student's life, even if for that another life should be taken in retribution.

As far as Barbro Brontë, Codruta Campes, Narecnitsa Náhrvalr and Ciril Cottus had known, that was a fair enough price to be paid.

'The Angelica is severely dangerous when used in potions, mainly because of its high level of concentrated magical and medical power. That is why it is only used in antidotes for equally severe and powerful potions, curses, hexes and spells that have no real cure or counter-magic invented' Severus announced with an even unemotional voice.

There were a few surprised murmurs, but mostly the sounds he heard couldn't be interpreted as anything more than delightful, even if dubious, interest.

'Today you will do your first attempt at the Strong Will Potion, which is obviously one of the rare potions that require Angelina roots. By any chance, someone know what it is? Mr. Hamilton.'

Ernest almost jumped as his housemate had earlier, but he prided himself of being more in control of his actions and reactions than most people his age. What only inspired his surprise was that suddenly he found himself staring into onyx eyes that bore into his demandingly and frighteningly.

After a few precious seconds, and an impatient glare thrown his way, Ernest straightened and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he searched for his answer.

'The Strong Will Potion is used to maintain the drinker focused and with a strong sense of reality, not merely sharpening their mind but also keeping them with a strengthened control over their mental functioning. Its solemn purpose is to protect one's mind from being easily corrupted by disillusion, mind controlling and deceiving charms or hexes, and even other potions', amber eyes darkened again in ill-concealed passion for the subject before he continued 'It's known for being the only possible mean to bring people under the Imperius Curse back to slight awareness and out of the spell's influence for precious moments; enough for them to acknowledge that they are indeed under an Imperius and therefore be able to fight it, or some aspects of it, on their own. In many ways it is much stronger than the Wit-Sharpening Potion, and their brewing process are absolutely different.'

All the response Hamilton got from his professor was a cold nod and a light sneer. There was no way those could be taken as a clear sign of favoritism or appreciation, but somehow Ernest knew that he hadn't wronged yet.

At least, not too much.

With a billowing of robes, Prof. Snape turned his back on him and moved again to his desk in front of the class.

'10 points to Brontës' was all Severus conceded as acknowledgement for the young man's perfect answer 'For the same reasons Mr. Hamilton informed us, this potion is highly important for the warding of one's mind from general damaging hostile magic, especially for the recuperation of victims of mind-controlling draughts.'

Facing the students again, Severus only continued when he was sure that he had their undivided attention. Most of them had family members who had been one of those victims, or had been guilty charged of casting many spells or curses that would need the potion he was going to teach that day.

The importance of the lesson was unquestionable, and the underlying message in their professor's voice was clear to each adolescent before Severus. They all knew that if there was someone other than Prof. Potter who knew the details and the value of such a potion in the battle field; it was the Potions Master before them.

'_However'_ Snape stressed before continuing 'It is not a cure or a reliable counter-action for victims of charm, hexes and curses of the same nature, working thoroughly when given to those who were affected mainly or solemnly by mind-controlling or mind-altering potions such as the Love Potion. As you'll find in your text books – '

Ernest didn't even blink, focusing all of his senses, and his considerable intelligence, on every single word that left Severus Snape's mouth. He managed to keep his eyes into his professor's, even when the older man wasn't looking anywhere near him but still managed to make everyone feel watched.

It was the same with Prof. Potter. Even when the younger teacher had his back turned at his class, they all had a feeling that he somehow _knew_ everything that happened as if he had eyes on the back of his head and acute hearing, added to a breathtakingly certain sixth sense.

From the few personal anecdotes his younger professor had ever allowed himself to give when it came to the Potions Master, Ernest knew that the older man had that same power imbued in him.

Mostly, Harry Potter only ever mentioned his former professor's natural talent and absolute expertise in the craft. Despite the clear tension in the green-eyed wizard's voice whenever he rarely mentioned Prof. Snape's name, it was easy to know when he was talking about the older man. There were a mix of emotions in his tone whenever he gave unusual tip bits as Ernest brewed some draughts and potions, tips that probably had come from Severus Snape at some time. Some of them went against even every book ever written on the subject, but were undoubtedly correct.

The younger man's musings came to an end with a sharp jab on his side. He gasped after air at the sudden pain, but wasn't surprised in the least. It wasn't the first time something like that happened, though it had been a few of years since that had happened down at the dungeons.

The soft and evilly playful whisper in his ear only reinforced what he already knew. Ernest could hear the muffled sniggers at his side. Following an old routine, he felt a warm hand be placed between his shoulder blades, as light brown hair tickled the corner of his eye.

'Trying to get into his pants too, Hamilton?' that known mocking tone poked him, 'What would dear Prof. Potter think if he knew?'

Another barely masked chuckle.

He knew that act too well, far too well for his own liking even. It was 5 years of bullying, mocking, rivalry and personal – if not physical and magical – attacks.

The patting hand on his back belonged to a member of Cottus, Hugo Halo, the second person in that whole school who hated him enough to do something like that. The voice though, belonged to a housemate, the only who could order people around so they would take a piss at Ernest.

The one person who would deliberately plan, execute and rejoice any possible opportunity to cause Ernest pain, humiliation and general anger. Unfortunately, he had to share not only his rooms but most of his classes with Octavian Masson.

'Quite the dungeons' catamite, aren't we?'

Ernest had to give it to the redhead, Masson really was risking his own neck in front of a professor he didn't even know, therefore had no idea if he could charm his way out of trouble or not. Not to mention that Prof. Snape had made it very clear, even if silently so, that he wasn't one to be messed with.

Still, Ernest had to give in that the new professor seemed absolutely unaware of what was going on in that moment. He also didn't seem to have heard the first of Masson's pokes, one that Prof. Potter had always been able to catch, even if there were one or two – or five – cauldrons exploding around them.

It had been a test, and apparently the new teacher hadn't passed. That meant that Masson felt fit to dare on. That was a stubborn and idiotic trait that Ernest had warned his housemate about many a times; the imbecile had no sense of limit.

'Mr. Masson?'

Suddenly the laughter stopped, and the hand that had been rested on his back was jerked away as if burned. Gingerly, Ernest raised his head, trying to get a look of the Potions Master's face.

He was only half disappointed when he found nothing, not that the professor's face was blank, although he didn't doubt it was, but because the older one had his back turned at them. Yet, that didn't make the situation any lighter, in fact, his lowered head and the hand that absentmindedly turned the pages of the book onto his desk, even as he kept his back at his students, only made the tension thicker.

Apparently finally Masson had picked on that little fact too.

'Yes, sir?'

'Do you wish to question Mr. Hamilton's answer?'

A sharp intake of breath was all the evidence Severus needed to grasp on the indignation, anger and apprehension. He had caught on the intense and unrelenting light-blue glares that were sent like daggers into Hamilton's back.

Snape had recognized the boy instantly; he made part of one of the richest Romanian wizarding families, known for ever being involved with the Dark Arts and for their bright, light-blue eyes and the pale ginger color of their hair.

What mostly set them apart from the other redhead wizarding family Snape knew were both the lack of abnormal amounts of freckles, and their astronomical bank account. The Massons were known for an arrogance that rivaled even the Malfoys', and a ruthlessness that matched the Lestranges'.

And a petulance that could surpass that of a Potter.

'No, sir.'

'Do you have any other piece of information that you find so primordial to my class that you see fit to ignore the rest of my lecture?'

'No, sir.'

Snape nodded and finally looked at his students. All of them waited with bated breath, as their schoolmate held himself not to fidget under that bottomless, and yet oppressing, gaze.

'So you don't have anything _remotely_ enlightening concerning Angelica Archangelica, or the Strong Will Potion, to share with me and your classmates?' the professor asked, his eyes pinning the younger man.

'No, sir' was the barely discerned answer.

Severus was sure that the boy was gritting his teeth, but that never had bothered him before. It was a very common reaction, one that he had seen many times a day for years.

With purposeful strides, he placed himself in front of his desk, knowing that from that position – and thanks to his height – every single one of those dunderheads could see him and be sure that he was watching them back.

'Then you, and the rest of you, will refrain from talking unless spoken to by _me_. I do not know what must have been your former professor's policy but I do _not_ tolerate any noise in my classroom. _At all_' the Potions Master waited to see undeniable understanding in every face, holding Octavian Masson's stare until the boy nervously looked away before he continued 'The potion is detailed in your books and the process of its brewing is explained on the blackboard. You've got little over than one hour in your hands ladies and gentlemen. I suggest you start at once.'

* * *

Harry was reaching for the baked potatoes when the sound of angry scratching of wood caught his attention. Without warning, black robes fluttered in the corner of his eyes, but he didn't stop what he was doing and continued to pick his fair share of food without a word. 

He always thought the first day to be the easiest and the hardest every year. It probably was an echoing reaction to his school years that were equally good and bad. Harry loved to teach, as he used to love to go to school and learn more about magic, but still it wasn't a solemnly nice experience, or a completely unpleasant one.

Before, going to Hogwarts meant being away from the Dursleys again, and being closer to everyone he cared about, as well as staying at the only place he saw as home back then. And yet, it meant facing the Boy-Who-Lived title and everything that came with it, as well as having to deal with Malfoy, Snape and the reality of the approaching war more so than ever.

Of course, as a professor he didn't have to deal with such things, but although the problems and blessings had changed, they remained.

At Durmstrang, Harry felt at home too. He didn't have Ron or Hermione there, but he had friends, he had his students, he had responsibilities, and he made a difference. He loved his place at London, but when he was there he missed the work, the castle and the people. But at the same time he had to deal with his great load of paperwork, his students' developing personalities, tantrums, whining, arrogance and general annoyance on a daily basis.

That year was even more stressful because he was taking another course, he had a different responsibility, but it was unquestionably no less important. He had avoided the Dart Arts position for years, and a part of him resented Blaise for leaving so abruptly.

Harry loved teaching Potions, and he valued it very much, that being the reason why he had been so adamant about only giving up his position if he found someone apt to take it. Obviously, he didn't have a Master on DADA for nothing, and he prized the subject just as much.

His decision to take Dark Arts, while Snape took Potions, hadn't been an easy one. Harry had half expected the older wizard to opt for DA, especially because of his everlasting ambition for the spot back at Hogwarts' day. But Piotr's letter, informing that Severus Snape accepted the position as Potions Professor had brought that theory to the ground.

Antokolsky had assured him that in the letter he had sent to the reformed Death Eater, both positions were subtly being offered to his choosing. Mostly because as a Slytherin, Piotr knew how competent Snape would be at both.

But the ex-spy chose Potions.

In a way, Harry could understand, for he himself avoided DA for a reason. He had been the one to fight for the subject to remain in the schools' grade, knowing that it had saved his life many a times, but that didn't mean he was anywhere near ready to actively work with it.

Blaise had been of great help, offering himself for a job he didn't need, doing so only because Harry needed someone he trusted at Durmstrang.

Harry knew that Zabini never fully understood why he didn't assume the role himself, but the Slytherin had accepted his half-arsed excuses for it.

He knew the value and importance that DADA had had in his life and many others', and he was adamant not to take that knowledge from anyone at all, but Harry wasn't willing to deal with the Dark Arts again, even after so many years.

It had changed his life in several aspects and he hadn't been sure he was strong enough to face each one of them again, on a daily basis. Still, everything had gone upside down when Snape accepted the job, and he had no other alternative but to give in.

It was that or leaving Durmstrang altogether, and the latter had never been an option.

When the heavy sound of the oak chair abusing the stone foor finally stopped, Harry replaced the bowl back on the table. Focusing on the jar of pumpkin juice, as he filled his goblet once again, he allowed himself to acknowledge his co-worker.

'Snape...'

Unsurprisingly, a groan, and possibly a sneer, answered his polite attentive tone. He had to control himself not to grin; Harry had never expected Snape to be so susceptible to his presence. He was surprised when he actually got an answer as the older man busied himself to place small portions of food onto his plate.

Piotr had told him that their former professor threatened to kill the house-elf that dared to mess around his plate. Harry figured it was part of a Potions expert 's paranoia. Since he had finally learned that he appreciated the craft, he had the same preservations about who touched or got near what he was about to drink or eat.

'Potter.'

Harry read in the annoyed, albeit cold, inflection Snape had given to his surname that the older man wasn't in a horrid mood. If he had been, the Potions Master would have ignored him completely.

Hell, the greasy bastard wouldn't even have been there to begin with.

'How was your first class?' Harry asked nonchalantly nice, not really bothering to wait for an answer as he began to eat.

It took a while, a great while, but proving Harry's suspicion right, Snape grudgingly answered with his usual irritated impatience.

'Just like they have and will always be.'

'How many cauldrons exploded?' the green-eyed wizard asked barely able to conceal his knowing smirk.

'Three' Snape growled out with a finality his former student was bound to ignore.

'That's good...'

'I'm sure you think so.'

The younger wizard leaned back on his chair, holding his goblet as he took a measured sip and swallowed the food he had been chewing. Harry knew his voice gave his thoughtfulness and amusement away, but he didn't really mind it as his eyes swam over his students' heads.

'Well... In my first class I managed to explode the cauldron myself...'

The sound of clattering got Harry's attention, and when he looked over at his side he was surprised to see Snape watching him for the first time. The contempt in the other's eyes was very much obvious, but didn't put him out much.

It was annoying, but Harry had had it worse from the man.

'And you hold this memory with such a bestial pride that you had to tell me about it' the sarcasm leaked profusely from each word.

'It helped' Harry shrugged, clearly letting Snape's comment slide over him 'I had their attention ever since... And I've learned to study the potions before teaching them; no matter how uncomplicated the potion might be...'

'Took you long enough to understand the obvious, Potter. Unsurprisingly so' Severus drawled, as he swiftly pushed his chair back without another word.

Harry rolled his eyes as the older man got up and left with his robes billowing. As much as the old bat had always accused him of being overly dramatic, Snape had always indulged into theatrics himself. Harry could almost call the other a hypocrite if he didn't fully understand what Snape meant.

He snorted and reached for his goblet, allowing himself to taste the pumpkin juice, as his mind went over his lesson plan for the next classes. He still had about 20 minutes, more than enough time for dessert, and the pudding did look highly inviting. Harry couldn't help a small snort, as the clear image of Ronald Weasley shoveling abnormal amounts of food down his throat suddenly appeared in his mind.

Harry was so absorbed in that, unfortunately for Hermione, not quite childish memory that he couldn't help but start when all his senses screamed for his attention, making him tense and his magic tingle softly defensively about him as the small hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end.

It wasn't until a low, lazy and irrefutably belittling voice reached his right ear that he realized why he suddenly felt the absurd impulse to dig for his wand. Years had passed since he was caught off guard like that; his magic and body had adopted Moody's words as indisputable truth. That same constant vigilance became second nature to him since he was 17 years old, incrusted as it was in his very core for it had saved his life more than once.

The irony of who was putting it to test, and even managing to fool it, didn't miss him.

And it most certainly didn't please him, but there was no way around it. He knew that voice very well, better than he knew many, and there was no way he could mistake that magical signature.

'Don't fool yourself, Potter' Severus Snape was purring in his ear, low so only he could hear but no less unforgiving for that 'They didn't pay attention at you; they were just waiting for you to explode your cauldron again.'

Before Harry could even attempt to answer, the Potions Master was already gone.

With an annoyed frown, and a flush of irritation, he pushed his chair noisily and stomped out, ignoring Piotr's flashing grin and forgetting all about the pudding.

* * *

After lunch, Severus found himself with another free period before his two last classes. He took the time to ponder about what had happened in his first class at Durmstrang, and how it had worked. 

All things considered, he doubted it could have been better. For sure Mr. Masson, his friend and any other Brontë and Cottus fifth-year wouldn't try anything during his classes again.

Snape was determined to make the rest of the fifth-years absorb the message as well, and he knew it'd be enough to get word to every living soul in that school that Severus Snape wasn't a person or a professor that responded well to insubordination of any kind.

That first day had helped him make a decision he'd been considering for some time involving Ernest Hamilton. The boy's ability to comprehend details about ingredients and the process of potion-making was in no way compared to the irrefutable talent the young man had for brewing.

His Strong Will Potion had been absolute correct, and could have very easily been flawless if it weren't for the boy's nervousness and his uncontrolled perfectionism. He knew how to manipulate the ingredients just right, seemed to have a natural ability to identify them as well. His senses were well developed, although the young man clearly needed help to sharp and focus them.

He still had much to learn, and seemed more than merely interested in each lesson. Young Mr. Hamilton had though a problem with confidence, and he obviously wasn't one who could disassociate himself from any kind of distraction.

Especially the self-promoting, sneering, rich, redheaded bully type of distraction.

In Severus' opinion Ernest wasn't a complete failure, but still required a lot of guidance. It was more than most his students had ever proved themselves capable of.

That was the reason why he extended the power of his wards to the hall, not wasting his time in putting the journal aside when the tingling announced him the approach of the blonde young wizard.

'Mister, Hamilton.'

Snape saw the boy jump visibly, before his head whipped around, in a way that ought to make him sore for the rest of the evening, only to find his new professor standing before the Potions classroom's door.

The young man's eyes were slightly wide, and focused completely in his unreadable black ones after a quick perusal over his own younger self. Severus couldn't help but smirk inwardly, and appreciatively, at the fact that Ernest was smart enough to make sure he wasn't completely at fault before even daring to look Snape in the eyes. If he hadn't been sure before, that certainly made Mr. Hamilton's intelligence and healthy cautiousness very clear.

'Prof. Snape...'

He had to give it to the boy, his voice was remarkably steady and he didn't even appear to be shaking, although his eyes did stray to the left for a second as he assorted any possible escaping routs, should he even need them. Severus allowed himself another inward grin.

'I'd like a word with you in my class' he announced, more than anything, as he turned on his heels and purposefully got back into the classroom.

Ernest's eyes widened to the size of saucers as he frantically tried to ignore the stumped and fearful whispers from his fellow students. Quickly, noticing an order when he heard that no-nonsense tone, he followed his new professor into the class he had spent his second and third period at.

It was a good thing because Snape hadn't stopped talking, sure that he'd do just that.

'I noticed that you have indeed a very reliable, albeit crude, ability when it comes to my subject, Mr. Hamilton.'

One, maybe two, seconds of hesitation before the other got hold of himself again. Severus sneered lightly at the younger one's constant, but slight, slip of control.

'Thank you, sir.'

With a wave of hand, Snape managed to dismiss the gratitude and at the same time motioned the boy to sit on one of the seats from the first row of desks. Hamilton complied quietly, his eyes following the older man's movements, as Severus sat behind his own desk. The older man didn't waste his time with useless suspense, he immediately broached to the topic.

'Your former professor has told me about your aspirations concerning Potions, is he correct to tell me that you'd like to master your technique?'

'Yes, sir, I'd like that very much' the hopeful darkening of amber eyes contrasted with the unemotional answer that Severus received. The once Head of House placed both his elbow on the wooden surface, leaning forward slightly.

'Are you willing to have extra lessons and do extra demanding homework everyday to achieve such goal?'

'Absolutely, sir' again, Ernest managed to keep his anxiety out of his voice.

'Including on weekends?'

'Yes.'

'And excluding any misguided devotion you might give to other less important extracurricular activities? Like Quidditch for example?'

Hamilton's lips twitched as Severus leaned back on his chair, and he was sure the lad was trying to keep what could be taken as a smile, or a curl of lips, from his face. For the first time, the dark man couldn't be sure of which one his student was trying to hide.

It should have unnerved him, but it only reinforced his decision.

'I don't play, Professor, and I'm not an avid fan.'

'Very well' Snape conceded and held Ernest's eyes for a long time before he continued 'I need an assistant, Mr. Hamilton.'

The boy's brow furrowed in mild confusion, as his eyes turned honeyed with excitement, but still he didn't even try to interrupt his professor. If anything, Severus was sure the young man would wait for him to elaborate, instead of jumping into conclusions as most his age would.

'If you want the position, it is yours' before the blonde young man said anything, he added warningly 'But do take in consideration that I expect nothing more than absolute and undivided compromise.'

It was a dismissal, and they both knew it. That was why Snape turned his attention to the parchments over his desk and the vials of sample he had before him.

'Yes, sir.'

Ernest realized in that moment that he was going to be tested, many times. There was no knowing if he would step over the line, because he was sure that the man before him wasn't one to explain every rule in the game. If he played nice, he'd get what he wanted, he was sure, but he wasn't sure if actually sticking to niceties would take him very far.

The mysterious older man was offering to turn a dream into reality, something that not even Prof. Potter had been able to give him. Ernest knew that Severus Snape wasn't the type of man that pitied anyone at all, let alone enough to give out privileges.

That had been made clear that morning, and Prof. Potter hadn't told him anything that would contradict that first impression.

It was a clear offer, an honest deal that demanded nothing from him that he wasn't already more than willing to give. Still, Ernest couldn't help but be wary. The man didn't know him, had met him twice before becoming his teacher, and had only talked to him two times.

He didn't doubt that one lesson was enough for someone of Prof. Snape's caliber to notice if one of his students had what was demanded to become a professor, and even a Master. False modesty wasn't one of Ernest's traits, it had never been. He knew that he was exceptional at potions, had always known it, with the same certainty that he had always known that he'd never make part of his house's Quidditch team.

He knew that if there was anyone in that school that could be remotely prepared to take an expert tutoring on potions, that person was most definitely him. In the end, that was what it came to, wasn't it?

What mattered was the fact that he was the best choice, the only choice, and that the best Potions Master in Britain thought him worthy of tutelage, without asking for his soul in return.

Because he was sure that if that, his soul, was what Prof. Snape wanted, he wouldn't waste time in demanding it. Nodding to himself, Ernest took hold of his bag before standing and taking a deep breath.

'Professor?'

'Yes, Mr. Hamilton?'

For a moment, he was sure he had ruined everything, but then the realized that despite the harsh tone, his professor hadn't demanded him to leave, and he still hadn't been hexed. That gave Ernest the strength he needed to calm down, and keep his voice steady.

'When may I start, sir?'

The quill in Snape's left hand stilled, although his head was still lowered and his eyes focused on the parchment before him. With a deliberately lazy movement, he reached for the inkwell, slowly dipping the tip of his quill in it, and taking his time to bring it back to its former position.

'Today. 7 pm sharp. Here.'

Ernest nodded his acquiesce, not bothering to hold back his blooming smile in that moment: one, because Prof. Snape wasn't looking at him, and two because he simply wouldn't be able to hide it even if he tried. His inflection though didn't let his emotions show.

Not much, anyway.

'Thank you, sir.'

Severus shook his head in mild chasten, as he heard Hamilton's barely contained excited pace as the boy forced himself to walk instead of run to the door.

_Bloody adolescents and their excessive energy_.

'Mr. Hamilton.'

The steps halted abruptly, the apprehension so thick that made the younger one's magic cackle.

'Don't be late' was all he said before the boy left, his magic still cackling but this time for a whole different reason.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

_Boring chapter, I know, but necessary._

_The given name for Durmstrang's founders weren't made up:_

_**Narecnitsa,** pl. Narecnitsi were Slavic fate-fairies, sorceresses who appear around newly born children and foretell their fate. As for the others: **Ciril** is a Slovenian name, **Barbro** is Swedish and **Codruta** is Romanian._

_The information you find in this chapter about the plant called Angelica and its medical properties and use, as well as general information about it; were not made up._


	7. Chapter 7

_To Snapesfavorite just to show my appreciation for the amazing woman and writer she is._

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* * *

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**Chapter Seven**

It was only five past one in the afternoon and Severus' head was already throbbing. The sad thing about it was that he wasn't really surprised with that. Poppy used to say it happened because of his perpetual lack of responsibility when it came to his eating and sleeping habits, her main point being that he didn't do either one of those like a remotely healthy person should.

In Snape's opinion it was chronic. He had tried to tell the medwitch that he had those headaches ever since he was 4 when he had realized that the world was dominated by dunderheads, but Poppy never listened.

Yet, after such a long time, he couldn't help but remember the old witch's words. It was quite true that he hadn't ate more than one meal a day, or slept more than 3 hours a night for over three weeks, but Severus knew very well that that wouldn't kill him anytime soon.

His body was more than used to the bohemian type of life, Snape couldn't remember a time when he actually had 8 hours of rest. Well, at least not willingly, for when you're stuffed with sleeping draughts and had been put into a magical coma to heal your body back to life it didn't really count as a relaxing experience, now did it?

There was the inevitable fact that Severus was in a dreadful environment again; and had to deal with exploding cauldrons and intoxicated whelps on a daily basis. It was enough to give any men a killing headache.

Well, that or psychotic tendencies.

Thanks to his unwavering appreciation of and mastering on self-control, Severus could successfully squash any sudden homicide impulses. After all, he hadn't throttled the Weasley twins in six years, and had never told Dumbledore to do a biological experiment involving a new digestive method for the old coot's beloved lemon drops. He also hadn't spiked Minerva's bowl of milk with Firewhiskey, and he had courageously managed to keep himself from laying a finger on Harry Potter for several years.

Clearly, that only proved what a balanced man he was, despite people's belief that he was prone to tantrums or anything abysmally disgraceful as that.

Besides, taking in consideration his options, Snape believed he was having it good. For once he was actually able to focus completely in all his long dated researches and experiments.

Rather he admitted or not, the students weren't completely useless and most of the time they at least had some idea of what he was talking about.

Still, those weren't the reasons why he was missing most of his meals, or sleep. The fact was that Ernest Hamilton's tutoring proved to be more than worth his time. Surely the boy had a clear inclination for potions, something that was extraordinary in itself, but Severus had had to be sure that young Mr. Hamilton really had what it took to become a Potions Master.

That was why Snape took great pleasure in testing the young man's grasp on each special trait inherent to the job.

First, and foremost, it was the patience. The first evening, he had seen the excitement clear in Ernest's eyes; the boy's body was taut with anxiety. An anxiety that only grew with each passing second, with each seemingly innocuous activity he was told to do.

As the days went on, and there was no change in that apparently boring routine, the boy obviously learned that nothing would go as he expected during his extra classes.

The other traits were instinct, concentration, perception and control.

Ernest excelled in ones and was rather lacking in others, but Severus realized that it was enough. With each victory, that the boy wasn't even aware he achieved, Snape deemed Ernest Hamilton intelligent enough, talented enough and interested enough.

He doubted Mr. Hamilton would ever really hear any outward encouragement from his mouth, but then again that was one of the older man's most specific and effective ways to test his pupils.

Draco Malfoy had failed mostly because of his inability to work without any kind of flattering feedback, but then again, Lucius' son had had completely different aspirations and ambitions in life.

Shaking his head on his way to his classroom, Snape pushed those memories to the back of his head, until it was late at night and he had an open bottle of brandy at reach.

He still had half a little more than half an hour before fourth period, and Severus wanted to take a look at the books he had collected at the library when he should have been eating ham and carrots.

The ex-spy had banished most of the volumes to his study, but a couple had been magically disposed at his desk down at the dungeons.

Severus' head gave a dull throb at the prospect of another 3 different groups of annoying children. It was Thursday, which meant he had only classes with first, second and third years.

All day long.

He groaned in annoyance. Adolescents were bad enough, but at least sometimes they were intelligible, children on the other hand had the horrible inability to restrain themselves. That only resulted on half of the class sniffing and tearing out with no particular reasons, just because the little chits couldn't take a critique.

Already envisioning his bottle of brandy, Snape raised his left hand to rub the left side of his temple, trying to sooth some of the pressure in his skull so he could go through the next hours without a nervous breakdown.

No such luck, apparently the gods wanted to do nothing more than test his virtues that day. It was the only reason Severus found to explain the sight of a severely agitated Harry _Bloody_ Potter standing in front of his classroom, clearly waiting for him. Snape looked around instinctively and realized that there were already a few students about.

From the looks of it, they were a growing number of seventh-years, all of them probably going to their Dark Arts' class that also took place at the dungeons.

Even down at there Potter haunted him; the only good thing about it was that their classrooms were at complete opposite sides of the corridor and until then the Slytherin had never even had a glimpse of the Golden Boy.

That meant that something had happened, something remotely important or serious for the Savior had actually moved his arse to wait and confront Snape outside the ex-Death Eater's current classroom.

And in one of those moments of pure clarity, with one of those breathtaking epiphanies, Severus _knew_ he wasn't going to like the conversation that was looming in the horizon. Before Snape could simply bully Potter out of his way, the younger wizard took advantage of his second of hesitation and mild confusion.

'May I have a word with you, Professor?'

_Of course not_, was on the tip of Severus' tongue, it really was, but as soon as he opened his mouth to deliver it a horde of young girls suddenly appeared.

It was one thing to be unpleasant to Potter when they were alone, or when they were with other adults, but it was something absolutely different to be disrespectful to another professor in front of their students. Snape had many flaws, but unprofessionalism had never been one of them.

Potter's eyes told Severus that the younger man knew this very well, and the once Boy-Who-Lived was using that to his advantage.

With a martyred air about him; Snape growled a "yes" that pretty much sounded like a "no", as he got inside his classroom with Potter at his heels. It was obvious that The Savior was pissed off, and Severus didn't like the fact that he had no idea of what had happened this time to set the brat off.

Brat, surely, for Potter was nearing his 30's but doubtfully would ever grow up. Tall he was surely, and he most certainly wasn't the scrawny adolescent he had once been. The young man had a lithe built now, it was a Quidditch player built, obviously. A Seeker's built to be precise; not imposingly broad but deceivingly unimpressive.

It didn't change the fact that Golden Boy had never really managed to look tad older, war-worn or remarkably intelligent. At first sight, and second and third, Potter still looked like the almost 20 little prat he had been when Severus had last seen him, and in the older man's opinion it was just quite fitting that the younger man's looks clearly reflected his everlasting psychological immaturity.

Yes, Boy-Turned-Man-Who-Lived seemed slightly more sophisticated, self-restrained and a little bit less idiotically pathetic than he had been 12 years before, but Snape figured that even Longbottom had managed to grow a pair of bollocks after everything they had gone through. What was a very good example because even if Frank's son had indeed become a mediocre man after a bloody War; that was as far as the boy would go, despite Severus' incessant efforts to tough up the miserable whelp.

With an inward suffering growl the once Head of House stopped in front of his desk and turned around to face the bane of his existence as the doors slammed shut and a soundless, albeit strong, Silencing Charm was cast.

Snape's crossed arms over his chest and raised eyebrow furthered the impatient and disdainful look Harry had grown up with as his former teacher stared down at him, even though they had the same height.

Without a word, but a glare that spoke volumes, the older man waited for the flood of inanity that Snape clearly expected to pour out of Harry's mouth.

The Potions Master was sourly disappointed.

'Are you bloody insane?'

Harry didn't even bother to blink or soften the hard look in his eyes as he demanded an answer for a rather ludicrous question. He knew that pissing Snape off wasn't the best strategy that he could possibly use in that moment; or any other really, but Harry was too fed up to let it slide.

The older man uncross his arms, his eyebrow lowering and furring, face molding itself into another mask Harry was quite familiar with, too. It was a look that had been followed by astronomical house point deductions and severe detention assignments.

Even though there was no way Snape could do any of that in that moment, the look was still very intimidating, mostly because this time they both knew that the Slytherin didn't have to contain his indignation and anger by following a school code for punishment. Snape could just hex Harry to the next century as he had threatened to do many times before.

'I beg your pardon, Potter?' Severus drawled menacingly as he took a step towards the square-shouldered green-eyed wizard before him. Wizarding World Hero or not, co-worker or not, no one would talk to Severus Snape with that tone.

Following his Gryffindor blind bravery, fueled with the certainty that he was absolutely right and Snape undoubtedly wrong; brought forth the same defiance that Harry had displayed instinctively to every point deduction and detention assignment the professor had ever thrown his way. He stood his ground, his eyes growing fiercer and darker with resolution.

'Do you have any idea of what you're doing?' Harry hissed, refusing to budge 'He didn't sleep at all! _Again_! Because of that stupid-' he shook his head before continuing, closing the distance between them, his accusing green glare burning 'He could have injured himself! Or someone else! Do you have any idea of how it'd absolutely destroy him, if he ever – Even if it was an accident! Or with magic!'

Severus blinked. _Oh, there it is_, he thought sarcastically, _the asinine yak._

'Potter' he cut ruthlessly the imbecilic babbling 'Articulate and do think before you open you mouth.'

At that, Harry started. _Damn it_. He hadn't done that in years, jumping unselectively from one angry thought to the other without even noticing that he wasn't making any sense at all. He wasn't like that anymore. _Damn it_.

Taking a deep breath Harry crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw tightly so his mouth wouldn't get the best of him again, as it used to several years before.

'Are you giving Ernest extra potions?'

Harry expected another sign of barely contained hostility from Snape, he had after all just barked at the man, but as he waited for an answer Harry realized that the bottomless eyes narrowed and the pupils shrank, but he was almost certain it had nothing to do with him. Harry was far too knowledgeable on the many facets of Severus Snape's anger to mistake that thoughtful and slightly annoyed expression for anything else.

'Ah - I see, Mr. Hamilton has informed you of our accord,' it was a simple unemotional conclusion, not a question.

'Accord?' Harry sneered 'You've been keeping him awake 'til after midnight for over two weeks, giving him a ridiculous amount of extra homework that he only finishes half an hour before his first classes every day, and you call it accord?'

Just like that, the former Death Eater's features rearranged themselves in a scowl. For a moment, Harry thought Snape would go into that thoughtful zone he had allowed himself to be months before at Harry's place at London but Harry was sure that the sarcasm and aggressive tone in his voice managed to prevent that.

'_You_ told me that Mr. Hamilton desires to become a Potions Master,' again it was merely a fact, not a visceral attack, and that caught Harry off guard.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and groaned in the back of his throat. He had always expected a logical Snape, but an insult-free logical Snape was rather disturbing.

'I did but that –'

Severus waved a dismissing hand, with that imposing posture he sometimes had that made people want to cast an Unforgivable on him.

'I am sure you are an utter stranger to the concept, Mr. Potter' he curled his lips in contempt as he turned his back on the younger man, moving towards his chair '... but ordinary people must sacrifice to succeed. Accomplishment demands hard work, time and a lot of patience to be achieved. At least, it does to everybody else but you.'

Harry watched as Snape fluidly sat behind the professor's desk, his lecture tone full on, as well as that hint of condescension that the older man had always managed to keep in his voice whenever he was talking to, or about Harry.

The same condescension that had always made Harry's blood boil in his veins.

'Don't give me that, Snape' Harry grounded through clenched teeth 'Don't you even start-'

'That being' Severus continued, reaching for his quill and ignoring Potter completely 'Mr. Hamilton is quite the normal teenager and will have to learn all the above. Since he does seem to have all the qualities necessary, I have chosen him to assist me and be my apprentice. It will demand a lot from him, but _I_ am sure he will match the challenge.'

Harry was so immersed in his appalling need to hold himself not to initiate a screaming match, as well as fighting against that childish urge to strangle Snape, that he missed the true meaning of the man's words completely.

He wouldn't catch on that off-hand appraisal 'til much later that day, what explained Harry's unrelenting irritation in that moment as he focused on the Snape's hint that Harry could possibly doubt Ernest's abilities. Again, Harry did something he hadn't done in a very long time; latch on the wrong bit of information.

'I know he will, I just-'

Severus really didn't know why the brat even tried. Surely, after _years_ under his tutelage, even someone as mentally challenged as Potter was able to learn that there was no discussion when one had no arguments?

Especially a discussion with someone like Severus Snape, which explained, and justified really, the way he continued to ignore the young man completely. The Slytherin reached for another seventh-year pathetic essay and began to grade it.

All it took him was the first paragraph, _there it is… another irrefutable Troll_, he thought as he added his usual personal scathing comment. As Severus belittled the dunderhead, he found fit to voice a very obvious fact, successfully interrupting a very irritated Harry Potter.

'Don't you think for a minute that I need your consent for any of my actions, Mr. Potter' black eyes met green eyes fully 'They will never be any of your concern.'

Focusing again on the essays in a clearly dismissing tone, Snape waited until it was clear that Potter wouldn't leave without a fight to add with a barely concealed smirk, and amusement in his tone.

'Now, Professor, if you'd be very kind as to leave' he looked up, and facing a rather impassive looking Potter with blazing green eyes, Severus pointed his quill at the closed door behind the younger wizard 'I have a group of third-years waiting to get in, and I'm sure you wouldn't want me to hold them here after hours on your account.'

* * *

When he got in the classroom, the first thing he saw was the many vials a group of third-years had filled with a sample of the Skele-gro they had brewed and handed out to their professor at the end of the class with some predictable trepidation. Prof. Snape had the habit of warning every single year, every day; that those who had wronged the most would be taking their own potions in their next class. 

It wasn't particularly an experience any of them wanted to go through. Only Ernest Hamilton was sufficiently confident about his potions, not much that it had no mistakes, but more that even if he was indeed called to take it, very little could happen to him.

His brewing could not be perfect, but he certainly wouldn't suffer with any collateral damage, besides Ernest doubted he'd be sorted to such a practical learning. So far he had managed to get every potion right, be it a mere Hair Raising Potion or something as complicated as an Invigoration Draught.

It was the proof that his extra tutorial was paying off. Surely, Snape wasn't the nicest professor, or human being, Hamilton had ever met but that was beyond the point. The man was a real genius when it came to Potions, and he was actually a much better tutor in one-o-one lessons.

Prof. Snape was even more demanding, but not nearly as unpleasant, which had been a very welcome surprise. His professor's ways had never really bothered Ernest, he was sure that he'd have been disappointed if Severus Snape was anything else but ruthlessly brilliant and an absolute snarky, sarcastic bastard.

There still had to come a day when the older man was satisfied with his work. For weeks all Ernest had been allowed to do was rearrange then man's ingredient shelves repeatedly. Two long weeks were spent with that, first alphabetically, then following their expiring date, their magical proficiency and many other selective orders.

Anyone could have thought that Snape was merely trying to psyche his student out of his ambitions, but Hamilton knew better. Every night, he'd pay complete attention to what he was doing, memorizing and absorbing the information he gathered during those nights. To make sure he didn't miss anything, Ernest would redo his job, messing the order he had spent hours organizing and fixing it again.

That was the main reason why he rarely ever left the dungeons before midnight, and after each night, he still had to write a complete research on each ingredient, such essay based on the precise order he had been requested to follow night before. It was especially during those late hours doing homework that Ernest learned very unusual and fascinating things about each substance Prof. Snape had stored.

Another thing that left the young man floored was the clear trust that the Potions Master had in him. Hamilton knew that if there was something that not many in that profession allowed was for someone to get close of their personal storage, or even their very own cauldron, let alone their private lab.

It had been two nights in a row that Prof. Snape had led him into the incredible laboratory connected to the Potions classroom. The room was a complete different lab than it had been for Prof. Potter, even though one went through the same warded passage to get in. Ernest believed that as many magical rooms usually did, and laboratories had to be magical, it changed to accommodate the personality and need of their owner.

The changes hadn't been drastic, for a few rules had to be followed to maintain the top quality and the best conditions for brewing, but little differences were easily spotted by Ernest, mostly because he had spent a lot of his free time there. The cauldrons, or any other utensils used by Prof. Snape was neatly and even neurotically organized. The older man was much more obsessed with order than Prof. Potter had ever been, although Prof. Snape used more of his senses and instincts to brew, while Prof. Potter's ways followed a pattern of the unquestionable logic and strict methodology.

Still, it was just as enlightening and amazing to watch Severus Snape working as it had been to do it when Harry Potter was immersed in his work.

'Sir...' Ernest asked warily when he got close enough to his professor's desk. The older man didn't take his eyes from the samples before him as he scribbled something on a parchment.

'Mr. Hamilton,' Severus said as form of greeting before adding in a nonchalant way '... tell me, do you sincerely want to become a Potions Master?'

A sudden pang of fear made Ernest's gut turn ice cold, getting him sick for a sec. There was more than the usual impatience in Prof. Snape's voice; Ernest could detect something that sounded alarmingly like a subdued threat.

Immediately, the young man started to desperately think of anything he could have done wrong. Maybe he had organized the ingredients badly? No, Ernest was sure he had done as he had been instructed, just as he had always done since taking those extra classes.

He also hadn't faulted when it came to the essays he had to deliver; he double checked every list he handed over. Ernest made sure as well that everything had been cleaned perfectly, and put away precisely where they belonged. Then what? What had happened?

He took a deep calming breath, and tried swallowed through the lump that was quickly forming in his throat.

'Yes, sir'

_Don't embarrass yourself_, Ernest berated himself, _don't ruin everything_.

'Indeed?' Severus asked firmly, his bottomless eyes locked in his student's for the first time as he put his quill away, reading every single emotion that flashed briefly in those amber orbs.

The boy nodded once and clearly, palling considerably as he closed his hands over his bag and books until his knuckles were white. He was clearly rooted on spot, his eyes grown to the size of saucers as the Ernest frantically tried to keep them in a less frightened size. The younger one cleared his throat before answering evenly, though with a strained voice.

'I have always loved potions, sir.'

Severus moved around the desk, and he crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the boy in a clearly chastening way, and mild disappointment coloring his tone.

'And you told me exactly 15 days ago that you are willing to accept my teaching, regardless of the fact that I want nothing more but total commitment.'

'Yes, I did, sir.'

Ernest's voice croaked lightly, and he cleared his throat yet again. He had learned that any sign of childishness would get him nowhere in life, that any weakness shown would only be used against him. He had promised himself in a very young age that he would never give people ammunition to use against him. They already had many in their disposition.

'I must tell you, Mr. Hamilton, that one of the reasons why there are few Potions Masters is that secrecy rules our profession' Prof. Snape's words pierced Ernest's despair induced haze 'We are here to brew what it is need, to those who need it. We don't ask questions, we don't mind anyone or anything; our only concern is to learn; experiment and better. Do you comprehend me, Mr. Hamilton?'

And just like that, a breathtaking wave of relief coursed through the boy's body. He hadn't done anything wrong then, at least not really. Secrecy, Prof. Snape was talking about secrecy, and if there was anyone in the world that understood that concept it was Ernest.

It was obvious that the older man knew that very well, or else they wouldn't have that conversation. Yet, that didn't explain the professor's earlier tone. Ernest hadn't told anyone about his mastering tutelage, mainly because if Masson ever found out he'd do something to ruin that too. Ernest hadn't even told Franz, and his black roommate was the closer he had ever had to a friend in that school.

Prof. Potter had assured him that Prof. Snape wouldn't appreciate if he ever knew that Ernest was telling other people about his extra lessons, at least not until the older man himself allowed him to do so. It had been a very reasonable advice, and one he had been following without question for almost 3 whole weeks.

And then it all made sense.

_Professor Potter._

The younger professor had been unusually irritated during Ernest's latest Dark Arts classes, especially after Ernest lost his concentration during a pathetically easy practical exercise. It was ridiculous really, how could his lack of sleep be affecting him after only a few days, when he was more than used to stay awake all night for weeks on end?

Not to mention that his reactions to the full moon would get him too sick to fall asleep, days prior and after the transformation.

Probably it was because Ernest never had actually focused on anything during those nights, and he ended up tiring his system with the uncommon demand of thought process but it was nothing he couldn't get used to really. Ernest had nightmares for years now, and insomnia was inherent to him already.

But he had never talked about those with Prof. Potter, had he? Hell, he had never even mentioned his nightmares to Mike, so why talk about them to his professor. Ernest could handle it, he always could. He was much better with that arrangement; at least now Ernest was doing something during all those hours, something other than thinking or remembering the nightmares.

'Yes, I do, sir' Ernest answered with a resigned sigh as he nodded his understanding of what was being discussed.

Severus noticed the way the tension evaporated from the boy's body, even Ernest's magic signature; that had dulled itself out considerably with apprehension, was now slowly recovering its potency.

When his apprentice blinked twice, his darkened amber eyes going back to their original color, Snape knew that the boy indeed comprehended what he was talking about. He gave the younger one a stern look, uncrossing his arms, before he continued.

'Nothing' Severus said limpidly and firmly before stressing 'Absolutely _nothing_ that is done or said in here, during these lessons will ever leave this classroom and laboratory, Mr. Hamilton. If I find out that you have commented, whispered, hissed or talked in your sleep about anything you do here and all the things I will teach you, I shall never teach you anything other the dull and obvious program I am forced to follow in my everyday class' Snape said in a tone that didn't invite anything but complete compliance 'Are we understood?'

'Yes, sir' Ernest nodded once and resolutely, making sure that his acquiescence was obvious in his eyes and voice. He knew his professor was right to lecture him, he shouldn't have said anything to anyone.

It went against the trust the Potions Master had so begrudgingly given him.

Severus didn't reply as he moved back to his chair. Taking hold of his wand, he waved it without saying a word, opening the door that led to his personal laboratory and personal storage. Snape reached for a vial filled with a hideously dark green substance, a poor attempt that didn't even get close to the fluorescent yellow shade of an effective Skele-gro.

'Now organize these concoctions' Snape said without looking up and gesturing absently at the door of his private storage, that had opened with a flick of his wand 'This time I want you to put them away in the alphabetic order, but following their main ingredient' he instructed, before adding in an afterthought 'Did you study the potions?'

Ernest started at the curious tone his professor was using. The night before, second night he had gotten access to the laboratory, the Potions Master had told him to write essays about the draughts and potions that the first ten ingredients he had researched about were used as primordial base. He had already known some of those concoctions, what didn't mean much because at least seven of the ten ingredients were very commonly used and therefore were the most important agent to more than one single potion.

Not to mention, that he still had about 48 ingredients to go, before even attempting to get to the letter B.

Still, never before had the older man asked if Ernest had done his homework, not even when he was writing essay after essay about every single plant, animal and magical creature known to the Wizarding World. Of course, despite the many hours of hard work Ernest had handed over every inch of parchment requested, and had received them graded every night before going back to his dorm.

That was why he couldn't understand why Prof. Snape would feel the need to ask him about something the both of them knew he had done. Even though he didn't quite understand, Ernest wasn't about to leave his teacher without an answer, Severus Snape rarely asked a question without some purpose for it.

'Yes, sir' Ernest replied, trying to figure out the catch behind the seemingly innocent inquiry.

Severus nodded, rolling the same horrid green sample in his hands, and mentally listing every single ingredient the third-year dunderhead that had handed it over had failed to add, added without any real need or added more than it had been specified.

'Good' Snape said nonchalantly, as he dishearteningly studied another vial 'Because you'll start brewing them once you're done with the storage. The ingredients are where you left them, in date order, I'd presume.'

Ernest froze where he was for the second time that evening, but this time it was in an absurd attempt to stall his excitement and anxiety before all of it bubbled its ways out of his body in the form of a maniacal laughter.

Finally he'd start working on a cauldron!

Ernest had understood the importance of his theory lessons but to really start his brewing practical lessons was all he had been itching for ever since he had accepted the older man's offer.

Not trusting himself to speak without sounding like an incoherent unintelligent child blinded by giddy happiness, Ernest only nodded and went about doing what he had been ordered to do.

'Mr. Hamilton?'

The boy started and turned around abruptly, making Severus shake his head lightly in mild amusement.

'Professor?'

Snape extended his hand, looking pointedly at the impressive roll of parchment still tugged inside the blonde's bag.

'The homework' he smirked at the boy's light hesitation 'You won't need it for you have already studied it.'

* * *

Harry rubbed his eyes, feeling shockwave after shockwave of pain trying to pierce its way out of his skull through his eyeballs. That damn headache was tormenting him since the previous day. 

More precisely it was making his life a living hell every since that fiasco of his conversation with Snape. Conversation was a very loose word to use for that encounter, he snorted to himself ignoring an inquiring look from an over confident fifth-year.

Harry shook his head and focused on the young men and women before him. Since the Dumbledore's Army back at his own fifth-year, Harry had developed the ability to notice every single wand movement before and around him.

It was a handy for his profession, and it had been even more than merely handy in the battle field, when one had to be precise despite of what was going on around them. He knew that, and he pushed his students on that regard as well.

'Franz, I have told you many times not to move your hand so fiercely. It isn't the force of your movements that will improve the power of your hex', with a weary sigh he gestured to get every single adolescent's attention, and rubbed his left temple twice before continuing 'Class! You are forgetting that what makes a hex, curse, spell and even a charm efficient and powerful is focus. You have to truly want to conjure them up, or else you won't be successful. Now, try again!'

And just like that they were chanting their hexes and charms in front of a mirror again. When Blaise first came up with that idea, Harry had thought it preposterous, and when the Slytherin actually institutionalized it in his classes, Harry had thought it ludicrous. But as the days went on, even Harry had to give it to Zabini that it had indeed been a brilliant idea.

To put the younger students in a real duel had proven to be too dangerous; a third-year almost lost his head when he was paired with a rather quiet but highly vindictive second-year he had been bullying for months. Unaffected by the accident, Blaise had been adamant about giving them practical classes, reminding Harry that that was why he was there anyway.

"Give me a bloody break, Potter" the black young man had drawled after a rather lengthy screaming match between the two of them because that debacle "If you wanted me to bore them into oblivion with theory you had better told me that before I agreed to do this. For one, I wouldn't have accepted it, and second you can find someone else more fitting for the job." Before adding Blaise had adopted a mocking thoughtful mask "Too bad, good old Umbridge is locked up at St. Mungus; she'd have been bloody perfect for what you have in mind."

That had been enough to win Zabini free reign when it came to his teaching techniques.

_Cunning, bloody Slytherin_, Harry thought viciously now with a deceiving subtle twitch of lips.

It had been a complete failure at first, but Blaise was persistent and he didn't back down when anyone else would. The Slytherin had set his foot down, saying that those little chits were still too embarrassed to take the work seriously because of infantile inhibitions, and claiming that he himself had earned his Master on Charms thanks to that very method, one he had learned from one of his mother's many husbands. Harry always pointed out that it had been easy for Zabini to adopt that method because Blaise had always been a narcissistic, vainglorious little creep.

Blaise would grin, winking at him, and purring happily "With a reason, Mr. Potter, with an unquestionable reason."

'_Urgh_!'

The sudden loud groan of pain got Harry's attention. He had decided to continue the "Mirror Practice", as Zabini had labeled it, admitting that it was one of the best methodologies ever created. It was the perfect way to teach that type of magic; even though the name didn't change the Dark Arts lessons at Durmstrang were focused on the defense and protection against it. What many didn't understand was that no one could fight against something they didn't know, in that sense he always supported practical lessons instead of pure theory.

Young minds only absorb what they saw as useful, and what they knew would actually work. Besides, making them all test the curses and hexes on themselves first was a good enough way to discourage their later use on someone else.

That first contact more times than not provoked deep disgust and abhorrence towards that type of magic, and the focus changed from immense curiosity to complete devotion for all means to avoid and counter-act dark attacks.

Unfortunately there were always a couple of students showed a proclivity for the Dark Arts, and as Harry had when Blaise taught, he approached these students and tried to serve as guide. His main goal was try to keep these few exceptions from falling for the allure of the Dark Arts and therefore keep them from losing themselves in it.

Like he had almost done once.

Shuddering out of his reverie, Potter pushed his way towards the unconscious figure on the dungeons' cold stone floor. The face was severely disfigured, what couldn't have been achieved with only one hex or curse. Someone had cast something aiming at the prostate student's mirror, catching him or her completely unawares.

'What happened?' Harry demanded as he crouched to examine his student, a mass of blonde curls and the cut of the robes gave away the young one's identity 'Ernest? _Finite Incantatem_!'

Soon the dull but still effective invisible waves of hostile magic that were still reflected by the mirror stopped. Harry's headache disappeared in the swelling of his indignation and anger, but he had to focus on getting Ernest better before dealing with the matter at hand accordingly.

Someone picked the wrong day, the wrong class and the worse professor to mess around. Carefully, Harry rolled the younger man so he was laid on his back, resting the uninjured back of Ernest's head on his lap.

'There... _Accio_ Iron Goblet!' he called, his arm outstretched and in a matter of seconds the goblet was in his left hand, and Harry was encouraging the blonde boy to drink from it 'Here, take a bit of this...'

Using the students' commotion, Harry pretended to merely check the damage on young Hamilton's flesh when he was actually letting his Healing abilities act on the boy wandlessly. Not many knew Harry was indeed able to do wandless magic, and he preferred to keep it that way.

As far as the Durmstrang's alumni knew, it was the mysterious draught he kept in that special goblet that detained amazing healing powers. What none of them knew was that it was nothing more than an enchanted souvenir that he had bought during a trip in India, a common goblet that filled itself with the most limpid water but that deceived the drinker by giving it an unique, exotic and calming taste. A taste that changed accordingly for each drinker.

For Blaise it had been a mix of cinnamon and mint, with a hint of green apple, Hermione had claimed it tasted like honey and blueberries, Ron had said he tasted the unusual combination of lemon and ginger, with a little bit of brown sugar.

Harry had never tried it; he had been tempted to many times but at the last minute, for some reason, he always changed his mind.

When he was done with most of the injuries on the boy's face, and Ernest was again looking normal, Harry felt his student stir softly on his lap. Apparently Harry had covered every single after affect of what he identified as highly powerful and vicious attack; that brought forth Harry's indignation and annoyance, as well as his maddening headache.

Slowly amber eyes were opened, as Ernest Hamilton had a hold of his bearings again. The first thing he saw was the concerned face of his professor, and fighting his fierce blush he cleared his throat and forced himself back to the world of living forcefully.

'Thank you, Professor...' Ernest coughed softly and moved to sit up.

'_Apario_!' Harry demanded softly, without reaching for his want, his face growing impassive instead of showing all of his bottled up disappointment and irritation. He raised his head and looked up at the two young men who were quietly sniggering at the farthest corner in the classroom.

'Mr. Masson and Mr. Halo!'

The redhead forced himself to hold his professor's gaze, which was better than his bulky friend's attempt to dig a hole on the stone floor with his unwavering stare. Harry narrowed his eyes infinitesimally, and that was enough to get Octavian and Hugo moving closer to him.

It was rare when Prof. Potter actually vocalized an order; his students were well-aware of the fact that when he was really annoyed and irritated, he didn't need to say a thing. It was something about his face, that became absurdly impassive and unreadable, but in a very threatening and frightening way.

That was probably the reason why every change, especially the smallest ones, on that mask only issued actions; and more likely than not, answers from his pupils.

'Yes, Professor?' was Octavian Masson's petulant question.

Harry didn't even bother to get up, still busy working on the many injuries and general flesh wounds covering Ernest's neck. The boy's magic was dangerously low too, slowing his heart rate and his breathing pattern.

'You two managed to get yourselves a week worth of detention' he drawled coldly, with an even voice that made most of the younger ones flinch slightly 'I will not tolerate deliberate attacks, least of all coward attempts of hostility, in my class and I believed I had made that crystal clear for the past four years.' Harry looked up and locked eyes with his student 'Did I not?'

Clearly subdued, Masson finally looked away, not very sure in his defiance anymore. It was something Harry expected. Octavian usually responded first with arrogance, it made part of his personality, but the boy didn't hold onto it when it was obvious that he wouldn't be able to get himself off the hook with a vehement denial.

'Yes, you did, sir' both students answered, even Halo attempted a look at his professor from under his eyelids.

'20 points from Brontë and Cottus for this' Harry announced with a dismissing voice.

That was normally the cue for anyone who had step way out of line, and had gotten out of it relatively unscathed, to remain silent and invisible for the rest of class, if not for the whole year, but as Octavian Masson had been told repeatedly, he didn't know when he had reached the limit until he had already crossed it and someone pushed him back to his place. That was the only explanation for his childish tone when he spat a reply.

'But that's not fair!'

The room went deadly quiet. Hugo Halo's eyeballs almost rolled off their sockets when he widened his eyes in alarm. The young man had had more than his share of detentions all thanks to his childhood friend's uncontrollable ego.

Hugo knew very well by the sudden tightening of his professor's jaw that he was in for another very harsh lecture, if not a greater punishment than being shamefully costing his house several points.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Masson?' Harry challenged.

'He provoked us first' Octavian lied squaring his shoulders and sneering at the still out of sorts Ernest. 'We were merely striking back. Sir', he added in an after-thought.

'Is that so?' the professor raised an eyebrow at the gritted final addition to that phrase.

'Yes' was announced with a stuffing of chest and an upturned nose.

Harry nodded in a mock acquiesce, looking away from the young men and down at Hamilton. Most of the pus he had already healed out of the protuberances Masson and Halo had hexed onto Ernest's skin.

After he began to sooth the abused flesh, making sure no scar was left on each cheek of the young face. It had taken Harry years of practice to finally be able to heal completely that kind of injury, his first works, all of them done on himself, had left a thin reddish mark behind.

Taking the care to make Ernest drink from the goblet, he let his finder dance over each wound as he willed his magic evenly and soothingly out of his fingertips. Harry didn't even contemplate moving his gaze from what he was doing, sensing the nervousness that all his students were exuding in different degrees.

'Are you willing to give me your word on this Mr. Masson?'

At that Octavian started.

'My word?' he asked more than a little nonplussed.

'Yes, your word.' Harry repeated in a scary monotonic voice 'I may not be or have ever been a Brontë, Mr. Masson, but I work in this school for enough time to know some little peculiar things about each House.'

Octavian frowned and looked around after support but found none. Obviously, he was the only one who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut after testing Prof. Potter's temper.

'For instance, if you accuse your own house and roommate of attacking or offending you, giving me your word on it, I will know you are telling me the truth' the teacher continued, seemingly unaware of his student fidgeting 'It is quite unheard of such thing happening inside Durmstrang's Houses, for neither founder was known for their tolerance for liars. If you are not being honest with me you'll be immediately kicked out of Brontë and unlikely will be accepted in any other House in this school.'

Masson's face turned into an angry shade of red, even deeper than the one that covered his abused roommate, who was coughing every few seconds. Halo was groaning in dismay under his breath, probably thinking about the many levels of torture he'd endure if he arrived home after been expelled from school.

After a heavy and oppressing silence, one that made all the implications of his words more than just clear in the two boys' minds, Harry looked up at them again.

'So I ask you to consider your answer very carefully, Mr. Masson', green depths locked with light blue pools 'Are you, or are you not, willing to give me your word on this?'

Crucial seconds stretched, in such a tense fashion that Hugo reached for Octavian's robes and tugged it urgently and pleadingly. The boy looked away first and shook his head, gritting his teeth.

'I thought so' Prof. Potter offered him a knowing sinister smirk 'Now you may go, class dismissed'; it was after a few seconds that he added absentmindedly 'Mr. Masson. 10 more points from Brontë and another week of detention for your cheek.'

Harry had to give it to Masson, the boy had spine. Even caught completely focused on what he was doing, he was sure that Octavian was restraining himself from saying anything further. As he encouraged Ernest to wake up fully, Harry saw the way Hugo physically pulled his friend out of the classroom.

And people said Halo was stupid.

'You didn't have to go so far, Professor.'

Ernest winced lightly, his face slightly dry and feeling unusually stretched. He took a deep breath and shook his head a couple of times. His professor brought the goblet to his lips one more time, and he sipped the contents without a fuss.

'For how long were they hexing you?'

'It was nothing I couldn't handle, sir' the blonde shrugged, testing his limbs and trying to disperse the numbing reaction of some of the hexes 'It only got too much with my own reflected hex... That's all...'

'Still...' Harry watched as Ernest gingerly touched the flesh on his neck, breathing sharply at the raw feeling of the recently healed skin 'You don't have to take all of that silently.'

'I'm fine, sir' was the curt answer.

'Very well...' the young professor grinned, very aware of the force of an adolescent's pride, but also unable to ignore the way Hamilton rubbed fiercely his right eye 'Here, let me take a look... This was you or them?'

Harry handed him the goblet again as he waited for an answer, his thumb tugging slightly at the red abused flesh around the amber eyes. Ernest sat still, taking a sip of the unknown liquid and feeling a tingling of magic where his professor's thumb was.

'I believe it was me, why?'

When he was sure he had finally healed every thing there was left, Harry took the goblet from the younger man's hand and banished it to his private chamber. He offered the boy a hand after he was back on his feet.

'It's a perfect Conjunctivitus Hex, congratulations.'

Ernest nodded wearily and frowned lightly at the ruffle he received on the top of his head.

'Thank you, sir' he groaned, ducking the hand and earning a chuckle. He chuckled himself; shaking his head amused and brushing off his robes.

'What?'

'You're probably the only teacher who would congratulate me for hexing myself' Ernest answered with more than a hint of cheek.

'Probably...' Harry nodded in acquiesce, before smirking pointedly at Ernest 'But I know for sure that it is better than most of the scathing comments you could hear from other professors...'

'It surely is...' was the uncommitted answer.

'You'll need to eat meat at dinner tonight...' the boy gave Harry a suffering long look 'I know, but you have to restore your energy... I might have lifted all the hexes and fixed everything that needed to be fixed, but you were hit pretty nastily... You should also go to Madam Inas, just in case I might have missed something'

The boy took a deep resigned breath and nodded once, before his face assumed a concentrated look. It was Hamilton's usual thoughtful expression, whenever he had to re-schedule his whole day. The boy was very methodic, and seemed to be constantly planning every single step and word he took and said every second of every day.

'All right...'

'You were planning on missing dinner, weren't you?'

Ernest started and then blushed for being so damn predictable. He then willed the blood from his cheeks, cleaning his throat repeatedly and started to put his things away.

'I have some things to do...' was all he said.

'You're not done with your homework?'

'Not... all of it...'

That slight hesitation made the true implications of the answer very clear for Harry. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched blankly as Ernest neatly organized his books and parchments inside his bag.

'Prof. Snape's extra homework...' he stated, instead of asking.

'Yes...'

'Tell me, Ernest... Do you like his class?'

'Very much, sir.'

'Even the extra ones?'

'Especially them, sir' Hamilton assured him without hesitation, his eyes darkening as he went on 'I never got to thank you... For telling him about me... If it weren't for your indication, I wouldn't have this opportunity now...'

With a wave of hand, Harry kindly dismissed his student's stammering and embarrassed words. He grinned once again, waving his wand and banishing the many mirrors in the classroom.

'You've got nothing to thank me, Ernest...' he replied truthfully 'I simply told Sna-Prof. Snape that you're absurdly dedicated to potions... He took it on himself to be your tutor; I had nothing to do with it...'

'Still' Ernest shrugged slightly before adding sincerely 'Thank you...'

Harry turned his attention to rearranging the desks and chairs again for his next class – a group of fourth-years that had failed tremendously on an essay about vampires and to whom he had given the alternative to keep their abysmal grades, or study for another week and take a quiz.

They chose the quiz, grudgingly so, but it was their decision.

'So... How're these classes going?'

The tension that followed his careless question was tangible. Harry could feel his student's magic cackling in apprehension, something it rarely ever did when they were together. It only happened when Ernest realized he had stepped out of line, and was asking more than his professor was willing to answer, or when Harry himself broached a subject that the young man didn't want to discuss.

'How... are they... going?' Ernest repeated filling it up with unnecessary pauses.

Harry turned to him, with a mild amused expression that more times than not made Hamilton blush crimson red, despite of his best efforts.

'Yes' he nodded with a grin 'What is he teaching you?'

'Humm... Potions...'

Harry laughed softly.

'All right…. But how?' his smile broadened slightly, his green eyes ablaze with interest, adding with an unemotional tone 'As far as I care to remember, Prof. Snape didn't have the smoothest teaching technique ever created. At least, he most certainly didn't use with me or during my Remedial Potions...'

'You took Remedial Potions?'

Harry laughed again at the disbelieving, and slightly belittling tone.

'Yes, horrible' he teased, making his student blush 'You can always ask Sna-Prof. Snape about how I'm completely inept at Potions. Well, at least how inept I used to be at potions when he used to teach me...' Harry then shook his head to bring himself back to the matter at hand 'And I might be older than you but I'm not that old yet, Ernest... You're distracting me from the question...'

Ernest had the decency to look sheepish as he shrugged. He then took a deep resigned breath, amusing his Professor further.

'It's only that...' he trailed off before sending Harry an apologetic look 'No offense, Professor, but I can't tell you anything about my extra classes... Least of all, about what I learn during Prof. Snape's tutoring...'

All amusement disappeared from the vivid green eyes, in its place was a suspicious and mildly annoyed light, one that always shone in his gaze whenever Ernest talked about his extra potions lessons.

'You can't?' Harry asked blankly.

'No...' Hamilton blushed again, shaking his head and fidgeting uncomfortably under his professor's suddenly intense stare 'Potions... Is not a very public science, sir, you do understand?'

At Ernest's obvious nervousness, not to mention the hint of pleading laced in his last words, and seeing that the boy was bracing himself for his reaction, Harry forced himself to calm down and soften his expression and gaze. He wasn't going to take his frustration out on his student.

Even if that blinding headache that was driving him insane for almost 24 hours did the impossible and worsened.

'Surely... Of course.' Harry added more firmly after a while, he smiled kindly and shrugged good-naturedly 'I shouldn't have asked anything in the first place, don't you worry, Ernest.'

When the blonde young man didn't look convinced at all, Harry ruffled his hair brotherly as he usually did to annoy the boy, winking at the mock glare thrown his way.

'I understand it completely, Ernest' he said honestly and then pushed the student playfully towards the door 'Now go, or you'll be late for your next class.'

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

**Apario **(_Reveal_) is a spell that reveals the magic signature of whoever used magic on or against another person. Despite of its usefulness, the _Apario_ is defective in many levels. For instance, this particular spell can't tell what had been cast – if it was merely a charm, a hex or a curse, therefore making an immediate counter-action very difficult and almost impossible.

The spell can't tell the nature of the magic used either–whether it was Light or Dark, nor the intentions of the witch or wizard who used it, and only someone who is already able to identify people by their magical signature will manage to use _Apario_ successfully. This was Harry Potter's very first, and quite mediocre, spell-creation experience. The final product was so deeply unsatisfactory that he only uses it when something happens and he already has an inkling as to who is the responsible.

Many, _many_ of his students have landed several weeks of gruesome detentions thanks to this spell. According to Hermione Granger-Weasley the spell would have worked if Harry Potter had actually _thought_ out exactly what he wanted from it before creating the _Apario, _instead of doing it just to see if he could.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight**_

Not many things could indeed surprise Harry Potter anymore.

He had seen many things during the course of his young life and most of those things had been beyond extraordinary. Sometimes he caught himself thinking that everything he had lived had been a succession of impressive and over the top experiences.

Every feeling, every moment had been intense, be them good or bad. He had been forced to grow up too early, even though everything in him rebelled against that sudden precociousness. In ways, Harry could be labeled as jaded.

Harry knew that it was a trait people normally associated with him but he honestly didn't care. In Harry's opinion, he was far from being naïve, but he wasn't as callously detached as some people perceived him to be. There weren't many things that could aghast him, or stump him, but that didn't mean _nothing _could.

Still if you took the sudden but slight change on his breathing pattern, as well as the subtle speed of his heartbeat, in consideration it was safe to say that Harry James Potter had been caught off guard. That was surprising in itself since it hadn't happened in a rather long time, for life at Durmstrang wasn't as turbulent as some would think.

Surely there were the occasional rule breaking, and Harry's gruesome; or merely exhausting, detentions as retribution but that was it. He was more than used to finding a student unconscious on his way to the library. He had confiscated more than 10 Invisible Cloaks and more often than not Harry had to ignore the rather graphic growled suggestions that sometimes he heard from his students – all of them very creative about Harry's private use of his wand or broomstick.

Ron had once told him that Harry was the worse type of professor ever, mostly because he knew when to be friendly and when to be strict. "It's bloody evil what you do to these kids, mate", the redhead always sported a grin when he said such a thing "You confuse the midgets. Why, with you being the first to offer a hand and also the first to hand out detentions."

Harry figured his friend had a point. Back at their school days there weren't many teachers like that, McGonagall had tried but the act was a bit ruined because she _always_ looked severe. Harry didn't, and if anything he was always open to any kind of conversation, something that hadn't been all that easy to do with his former Head of House.

Harry gathered that Minerva had a way to make one feel guilty before he or she even actually did anything wrong. Not that that had put everyone off. He had been one to conveniently forget about the guilt whenever he wanted, or as he saw at the time _needed_, to break the rules. The guilt for Harry was slow to come but it did every time, as soon as the adrenaline rush was over.

Of course, feel guilty never really changed the fact that he had screwed up and that his whole House was going to pay for it. McGonagall always felt the need to make that very clear but to her everlasting chagrin, it didn't hit home most of the times.

Despite his childish dos and don'ts and its consequences, the bottom line was that Harry had also been through a war, and had to deal with death and pain from a very close range at a very early age. That sort of thing jaded you more than any disciplinary method any of his professors had ever seen fit to bestow him as punishment and it most certainly was nothing compared to the task of plucking out frogs' eyes for over thirty minutes, although Harry knew that -- just like he had when he was a kid -- his students believed the task to be one of the cruelest things that they could experience.

The whole saving the world and kilometric detention record aside, Harry had had to deal with the incredible ever since he had found out that he was a wizard. It was quite inevitable that his life only got more and more outrageous with each passing year, as if being the obsession of a psychotic madman wasn't more than enough to give him a headache.

Hell, the Dursleys were unbelievable enough and surviving them sane and whole was one of Harry's greatest feats and one of the very few he was actually truly proud of.

So really, it was just mind-boggling that he found himself completely speechless over a rather insignificant, and not at all enlightening, scribbled piece of parchment.

Harry had been overreacting, for he knew that was exactly what he was doing, ever since Anastasia Baranskaya interrupted his class right before lunch to give him a note from one of the other professors. The short seventh-year Campe had been quite respectful as always, only showing signs of slight trepidation when she insisted on handing out the parchment immediately, instead of waiting for Harry to stop admonishing a first-year that kept on using his newly acquired wand to poke his classmates instead of attempting anything magical with it. Ever since Durmstrang had been re-opened the Dark Arts classes were used to encourage the students to improve their magical abilities, in a united effort with classes such as Transfiguration and Charms, especially with the first and second years.

The reasons for such a decision were rather obvious: first, the students couldn't be expected to identify any kind of magic, let alone protect themselves against it, if they couldn't even manage a decent Summoning Charm; second, the faster the youngest ones got the hang of the simplest spells, the easier it'd be to instruct them in a couple of years through much more complex incantations such as _Expelliarmus_ or even the _Protego_.

The older students knew these things practically, and if there was a house in that school that valued any educational plan that would strengthen their pupils it was the Campe House. That was why it was so unusual for a member of that house to interrupt any class at all, let alone interrupt a professor in the middle of his lecture.

As soon as Baranskaya told him who the note was from, Harry understood the young woman's anxiety to do what she had been told to and why she rushed back to her own classroom down the dungeon's corridor. In her haste Anastasia didn't notice the way her DA professor frowned in confusing and surprise, yes _surprise_, at the neatly folded note that carried his very own name printed in a prim, barely intelligential, handwriting.

Harry prided himself of the fact that he had been able to stomp over his gnawing curiosity and only actually read the note once he was alone, sat on his chair, and after sending the younglings for their second meal of the day.

He read the words about twice, his confusion growing and deepening his frown. It was stupid on his part, and Harry decided that he would roll his eyes at himself later. When he got up and walked to the hall, Harry Potter was focused on trying to decode the message, as well as ignore the unmistakable order underlying the curt words he had just read:

_**My office**_

_**Seven PM.**_

_**SS.**_

* * *

Severus was having a trying day. The moment he woke up he knew that wasn't going to be a good day. The fact that this certainty was ingrained in his subconscious since he was 11 was completely irrelevant, what really mattered was the fact that he was rarely ever wrong about it. 

Naturally, the intensity of the wrongness in the 24 hours to come usually changed: mildly annoying on normal days, seriously life threatening on others and maddening-headache inducing on general. It might sound awfully morbid and pessimist to some but anyone who had led a life such as the one Severus had been forced or maneuvered to lead would understand that he showed an unusually lack of resent towards the world in that particular morning.

He was busy for sure; he had more than his shares of essays to grade down at his dungeons and about 3 detentions to minister before dinner. Only three detentions and it was already one in the afternoon, it was a record really.

Even with his admittedly bland emotional state at the moment, or at least as bland as someone with Snape's temperament could ever be emotionally, he was absolutely not inclined to talk to anyone while having his lunch. It had been a while since he deigned his presence necessary at the staff table for breakfast and lunch, and more likely than not he'd skip dinner as well. That obviously didn't mean he didn't eat, he usually got a visit from the Headmaster after hours and they had what Piotr insisted on calling supper.

Severus didn't say anything, merely indulged without a real complain but never giving up his habitual ugly scowl. To acknowledge the similarities between Antokolsky's behavior and that of Dumbledore's from the many years Severus had been at Hogwarts would only allow the memories to surface and Snape couldn't afford to do that now, so he indulged, ignored and kept up his schedule.

After a rather busy first week, Severus found himself a new routine. In his adamant decision to forsake as much of the past as he could, he avoided anything that could eventually invoke his ghosts. He only organized his class program while he tutored Mr. Hamilton, the paperwork he had to work on he only looked before going to bed and his research on mandragora's proprieties was currently on hold because he had other more pressing matters to devote his attention to.

His photography had been neglected but never really left his thoughts. Not that anyone bothered to look but Severus could be seen at the break of dawn walking around Durmstrang's ground, registering, imagining and studying all the pictures he hadn't yet taken. He planned to leave for at least a day and a night during the holidays to simply photograph every single thing he had seen. Severus appreciated the cold, the grey and the shadows that seemed to cover or affect everything and everyone in that location. It was a different way to capture what had made him considerably well-known in the muggle world.

Snape had never tried to be famous; he had never cared for the spotlight and for as long as he remembered all Severus had ever done was hide as far away from it as he could. In fact, were the very moments when Severus was the center of everyone's attention that he had grown to fear, then later abhor.

As a child, it meant anxiety and apprehension, as an adolescent attention only brought humiliation and hatred and for all his adult life, it only resulted in pain, failure and more times than not what Snape hated the most: guilt.

That was why he tried to focus on anything but those feelings. As it happened, irritation won most days because apparently the students had got remarkably stupider in the last decade and he definitely had grown less patient. That was why he really did enjoy the ample punishment possibilities provided by dunderheads such as the three second-years who had dared to mistake powdered fleas with chalk dust and covered half of their classmates with a ruined Hair Growing Potion.

Severus could still hear Madam Inas' disbelieving shrieks as the mediwitch saw the angrily protruded state of 14 students. And people said he was good with insults. Ingrid Inas was a damn right queen of belittling when she was angry. No overzealous, slightly rough, treatment like he had witnessed from Poppy Pomfrey, Inas was the type of nurse who would make you get out of your way not to need her services at all. Not because she was bad, mind, she was probably the one with the best Diagnosis Charm he had ever seen but she was sure to degrade your intelligence for every inch of you she had to fix or cure.

She was most certainly a model to be followed.

'All you had to do was tell me you wanted to meet me after dinner, Snape.'

He was so caught up with his reminiscence of everything that had already gone wrong that day that Severus almost jumped at the sudden comment thrown his way. That was strange in its own, for Snape had a rather developed sixth sense. Why, with the whole being part of a murderous and highly illegal organization and later turning into a down-right liar and traitor to the most dangerous Dark Wizard in centuries and all, he just had to learn how to be constantly alert. Not many people managed to surprise him, however slightly or for an insignificant amount of time.

Snape truly had believed that those who could do it, had already died -- all three of them. Apparently he was wrong. As he saw a glimpse of an equally black robe brushing ghostly his right arm Severus was suddenly reminded of his ghastly headache and his morning premonition. _I knew it'd be a trying day_, he groaned inwardly.

'I do believe that was the information my note carried, Potter' Severus conceded not really knowing why he even bothered to vocalize the obvious. But then again, that seemed to be a constant with Potter, ever since the Gryffindor was a toddler.

It didn't really come as a surprise to Severus that the younger man would purposefully ignore the irritated snarky quality of his answer. The Slytherin realized that was something the green-eyed wizard seemed to do an awful a lot ever since Severus first exchanged words with Potter back at London.

Surely, Potter wasn't as impervious to Severus' blunt dislike as the Golden Boy appeared to be but there had not been a time when Potter indeed let his temper get the best of him. Despite Severus constant biting, or merely sarcastic remarks.

Always with that insufferable, and infuriating, grin on his face, Severus' former student didn't even get out of his way to approach the older man. There was no forced civility, not attempt of intimacy or even the desire for polite acquaintance. Snape didn't bother to talk to Potter, and Potter got the message to stay where he was, and remain as silent as he possibly could.

The only time when that silent accord was broken had been the week before, when Boy-Turned-Man-Who-Lived had the gall to stalk Severus down at classroom and make unreasonable demands for explanation or any such nonsense.

Even though, Potter had made sure that that wouldn't happen again any time soon. As far as Severus cared to know, Ernest Hamilton had followed his instructions and Potter didn't go berserk about it. The Potions Master had to admit, if only to himself, that he had been expecting his former student to embarrass himself further but apparently Potter wasn't willing to indulge him.

Severus had known that Hamilton's daily life would change because of the apprenticeship. The boy would sleep less no doubt, he'd study even more than he ever had, and he most certainly wouldn't be able to keep up with any foolishness he previously allowed himself but as the weeks progressed Snape realized that Ernest's habits were far too strict to someone his age.

The perfectionism he had witnessed before didn't lessen, in fact it worsened. It was obvious that the student wasn't organizing himself as he should and was overdoing even for Snape's standards. Severus supported devotion and even obsession when it came to potions but he also valued precision and quick-thinking. Ernest Hamilton was constantly second-guessing himself in everything he did. He also did everything at least twice: essays, researches, potions and even cleaning tools and cauldrons. It a habit Severus had to discourage and eradicate.

And really, the fact that the boy was missing far too many nights of sleep and even meals didn't worry Severus in the least, he was only trying to lapidate a talent. Snape barely noticed any of it, like darkening circle around the boy's eyes, his constantly tired expression, the perpetual wrinkled state of Ernest's robes, or his endless yawning. Really, Severus didn't care enough to notice anything at all in that regard.

A slight invasion of his personal space brought Severus back from his musing, fast enough for him to pine the young professor next to him with a glare. Did Potter really have to lean over him to reach for the jar of pumpkin juice?

The fact that they both knew that if the younger professor had indeed asked him to pass the jar Snape would probably play deaf, wasn't really relevant and didn't change the fact that Severus sneered at the unwanted nearness.

'I said all you had to do was _tell_ me,' Potter replied with an amount of patience so grand that Severus was sure it justified his sudden urge to strangle the brat '... not _write_ me that you wanted to meet me after dinner.'

'It did have the same effect, did it not?'

The Savior took two deep breaths before daring to answer a rather rhetoric question. Severus had a feeling that his bored inflection had actually affected Potter; even if the other man's calm expression didn't let it on.

'Yes,' the younger wizard shrugged lightly before focusing on his plate again '... but we are still sitting side by side now and talking about your note.'

The timbre his former student used was far too reasonable to Severus' tastes. It made him feel like a particularly stubborn and dense sixth-year, mostly because only one other wizard had ever used that tone with him.

That realization and the suspicion that Potter was deliberately using that shared memory of Albus only to spite Severus made the older man's previous intentions to completely ignore Potter disappear.

'What only proves your incapacity to understand that sometimes spoken words are unnecessary, if not absolutely avoidable.'

'What is it you want to talk about?'

Apparently the Slytherin had finally hit a button because Potter's earlier nice mask was quickly discarded after Severus' ruthless comment. The younger man wasn't rude in any stretch of the word, but his eyes didn't hold any sign of mirth as they had a few seconds before. It wasn't also the animosity Severus was so willing to project around the Gryffindor; it was actually a hardened glimpse of maturity that was still very new for the Potions Master.

Potter was clearly intrigued, and rightfully suspicious if the slight narrow of his eyes as well as the light strain in his voice were any indication. Severus was pretty aware of the fact that he could end that whole unnecessary display at any moment, all he had to do was give in for once in his life. He knew that very well but Severus Snape was a predictable man in many aspects and his unwillingness to give in any tiny inch was one of those particularities of his being. He doubted that would change any time soon, least of all for the benefit of James Potter's son.

'Later, Potter' was all he was willing to say.

'Snape-'

Not really interested in anything that could be said any longer, as his wavering hunger had already dissipated – although not really abated – Severus pushed his chair back noisily enough to get his point across. He didn't want to have that conversation, he had far too many things to think about and endure a whole meal with inane chatter was most definitely not at the top of his list of priorities.

'Later,' he hissed tossing his napkin onto his half-full plate 'Potter.'

Without another word left, reassuring himself that his dramatic departure could in no way be compared to that of a sulking teenager.

* * *

He took a deep breath as he prepared himself to knock but if there was something that years as a teacher in a boarding school had taught him was caution. Surely he had faced more dangers than people had ever even dared to conjure up in their wildest nightmares but Harry had learned that hazard happened when you least expected. 

And hazard was the least you could expect when you were summoned – inexplicably so at that – by none other than Severus Snape. The last time such thing had happened Harry had to relieve the most embarrassing and degrading moments of his life. He was an adult now, standing at a door that didn't resemble in the least the wooden door that led to the Potions classroom of his youth but one could never fault at being careful.

Besides which, Harry never really got the handle of Occlumency anyway.

Taking a deep breath, squaring his shoulder to the flood of undoubtfuly creative pejoratives he was about to subject himself to, he knocked. As he expected an answer was promptly given, but he really was caught off guard by the fact that Snape wasn't the one who opened the door for him.

'Ernest?'

To his everlasting grace, Harry realized immediately that his student was as surprise to see him there at the threshold as he was to see young Hamilton answering the door of Snape's office.

'Prof. Potter?'

Abruptly the door was pulled opened father away and the towering vision of Snape suddenly appeared at Ernest's side.

'Keep stirring Mr. Hamilton, you know better than neglecting such an important step', was all the older wizard said without looking at Harry and tilting his head imperceptibly towards the bubbling cauldron Harry could have a glimpse over Ernest's head.

The blond Brontë didn't hesitate to give Harry questioning look and a polite nod in form of greeting before he scurried inside and promptly followed the orders masked as professorial instruction.

Only after that did Snape see fit to grudgingly acknowledge his guest, being Snape he did it in the politest way Harry believed his former professor could ever force himself to acknowledge Harry's very presence.

'Potter' Snape stated dryly.

'Snape', he replied in a neutral tone before adding 'What is it?'

Again, the former Death Eater merely cocked his head to the side slightly and already started to close the door, forcing Harry to swiftly move inside the room to avoid having it slammed on his face.

'Follow me.'

Harry did just that, giving Ernest a reassuring smile as he was lead to the entrance of the private lab that had once belonged to him. The door that appeared from solid stone wall was already opened and Harry was sure it wasn't just a fluke. He doubted very much that Snape would ever allow anyone to know the password, even if it was trigged by a silent spell, least of all around someone the Slytherin didn't trust and Harry was very aware of the fact that he fit that category quite neatly.

As he walked inside the enchanted room, he couldn't help but notice how different and yet similar it was to the version it had conjured up to him and that weirdly enough it didn't look in the least like Snape's old laboratory from Hogwarts.

This one was bigger and not as cold, the endless flasks of samples and ingredients were still there but at the back of the lab, while Harry had kept it at the wall on the right of those who walked in. The stool and workable had re-arranged themselves to Harry's left, while before it had been at the back. The utensils were neatly organized against the wall on his left aswell, taking the place of the door to that had once led to Harry's private storage.

_Snape really got out of his way to change things_; was the first preposterous thought that crossed Harry's mind before he chastened himself. He knew very well that working under the same magic that of the Room of Requirement; the laboratory at Durmstrang followed the Potions professors' unconscious choice of comfort and organization. Snape hadn't deliberately re-decorated the room just to get a rise at Harry. Berating himself for being paranoid, yet again, he decided to get the matter over with.

'You wanted to talk to me?'

Obviously, Snape ignored his question and glared at him before crossing his arms with that expression that told everyone that Severus Snape was not pleased with your thickness when it came to guess whatever it was he wanted from you. Even if the Potions Master hadn't said anything while he only glared at you.

'What day is it?'

'I beg your pardon?'

He just had to ask. Harry hadn't expected that after all. That's was why Snape had made that scene at lunch? Because he wanted to keep Harry from all the work he had to get done and go out of his way to ask Harry what bloody day it was?

_He's either joking or senile_, Harry thought dumbfounded. Snape though, only let out one of his trademark long suffering sighs. The type that made you want to hex him.

'I asked' the dangerously silkily voice was strained with annoyance 'what day is it today, Potter?'

'You're serious', Harry stated after the few seconds he wasted watching Snape to gauge the other's mood and being unsuccessful at reading between the lines. Talking to Snape was a gamble, the man never said what he really wanted to say, and if he was the one making the questions then it was more likely than not that there was a deeper meaning in it, regardless of how obvious the question would seem at first.

The comment earned him a full-on glowering look, down to narrowing eyes and evil sneer.

'Do I look like I'm jesting, Potter?'

_Good point there_, Harry conceded. So there was a reason he was there then, a good one if Snape overpowered his loathe and actually sent Harry a message. It had to be a very good reason because Snape was neglecting Ernest's mastering to have this unfriendly chat with him.

What had the ex-spy asked? What difference could it possibly make if Harry knew what day it was? He knew it was a Tuesday, he had had first-years first period, sixth-years second period and no class before supper. Harry knew he had about 100 inches worth of parchment to read from all the essays on Mermaids he had to hadn-out the next day to third-years prefects so the second-years would have time to prepare for the surprise quiz they knew nothing about and that he'd administer on Friday, the 23rd.

'The 20th, as you well know' Harry stated matter-of-factly, frowning slightly as he realized that there was something important about Friday that he couldn't really remember in the moment. Not with the martyr superiority that was so obnoxiously plastered on Snape's face.

'Very good', the older man made sure he sounded anything but pleased '... and what does that mean, Potter?' Snape didn't give Harry the chance to open his mouth before continuing his monologue 'It means that I must start working on the adaptations on Mr. Hamilton's Wolfsbane Potion at once.'

Then it hit him and Harry slapped himself mentally.

'It'll be full moon in three days' he supplied needlessly, ignoring what suspiciously looked like a roll of eyes from Snape.

'Exactly, I'm glad you have finally got yourself around the obvious.'

For one dull moment Harry suspected that his former professor would clap sardonically but apparently this kind of childish behavior was below the Slytherin. As he had done so many times since he had seen Snape again, Harry focused on the problem and decided to get annoyed at the other man's personality later.

'What will we do?' he looked over his shoulder self-consciously and could see Ernest hunched over the still bubbling cauldron as the boy gingerly dropped a brown-ish powder inside it 'I thought we wouldn't tell Ernest about any of-'

'Mr. Hamilton is now rather busy and focused, so I don't see why we should bother him', Snape said imperiously as he gestured briefly towards Ernest's general vicinity 'What I called you here for, Potter, was to brew Mr. Hamilton's potion for me.'

Harry frowned in confusion. Surely Snape knew, better than anyone else, that there was no way they could brew a brand new version of the potion until Friday. Hell, they wouldn't even be able to get the version Harry had developed for Ernest ready until then.

'But it wouldn't suffice, it takes-'

It didn't take much for Harry to see that he had commited a very grave _faux pas_. The growling undertone was unmistakable as Snape rudely interrupted him.

'I am very aware of the intrinsic technicalities that involve the making and brewing of a Wolfsbane Potion, Potter. Still, I want to see the changes you did in my original recipe so I can begin to work on my new version of it for Mr. Hamilton.'

_Oh._

Well, that _did_ make sense after all.

'I see', was all Harry said as he looked around, feeling a bit out of sorts for being in such a familiar and yet completely foreign room. He localized the worktable again and the door that let to what could only be Snape's private storage and gestured towards the rows of cauldrons on the wall 'There?'

Harry didn't wait for an answer as he instinctively reached for the thickest cauldron, grabbed the largest wooden ladle he found and grabbed a few of the biggest recipients he found at one of the lower shelves in Snape's storage. One didn't wait for Severus Snape to answer an obvious question, or else one might as well spend the eternity waiting.

It hadn't been a very long time since he had brewed anything but still Harry could easily identify the first signs of that level concentration and meditation he only had when he was working on a particular difficult spell or when he was chopping, slicing, stirring and brewing. It was in that exact moment that he realized just how much he had actually missed potions.

So focused he was, drowned in a perfectionism he had never employed in the craft as a student, that Harry had all but forgotten there as someone else in the room. Or at least he did, until this someone made his presence known again.

'Potter.'

'Humm?'

'I need to know what you're doing and why.'

Harry looked up, and after a staring contest that lasted no more than a couple of seconds, he realized that the second-years wouldn't have a surprise quiz that week.

'Very well', he said resigned to what would definitely be a very long night 'I'm measuring the wolfsbane because it is an ingredient of this potion and we won't have a Wolfsbane Potion without it.'

* * *

'The change of catnip for balm leaves was quite dangerous but as it seems necessary', Severus drawled, making sure that a certain amount of unnecessary skepticism loaded what would otherwise pass as a praise 'So Mr. Hamilton has problems with the amount of adrenaline his body produces.' 

'You know about adrenaline?'

Severus courageously refrained from rolling his eyes for the nth time in at least 4 hours. He'd never understand Potter's predisposition to redundancy. Not for the first time he thought of sending Potter away and go to bed. He had already sent Mr. Hamilton to his dorm without homework for the first time since they started the boy's tutoring and that only shortened Severus' rather slim patience.

'Must I really answer your question?'

'I just –' Potter caught himself and let out an exaggerated, deep and noisy breath 'Never mind.'

'I'm a wizard, Potter, not alienated' Severus stated in the same monotone he had used all night whenever Potter said something remarkably stupid, which was rather often '… you increased the willow.'

'Yes' the younger wizard said airily, blatantly ignoring Severus' jarring tone 'His transformation is rather quick; some of his muscles get sore.'

'Still, Mr. Hamilton shows an incredible flexibility on his members.'

'How do you-Yes, he is rather flexible.'

Snape continued to watch the cauldron, pretending he didn't catch Potter's abrupt halt in mid sentence. That had happened more times than Severus had bothered to count, normally whenever he said something that was meant to stump, shock or just incite questioning. It was refreshing to see that Golden Boy had finally learned to keep his thoughts to himself, well at least most of them.

Whenever Potter caught one of his tricky questions and statements he edited whatever brazen Gryffindor stupidity that was about to leave his mouth and offered an equally bland and aloof reply of his own.

'I see. The passion fruit seeds?'

'He does remain minimally logic and highly analytic. His attacks follow a pattern, he doesn't launch head on in hungry desperation or just for the sake of being violent. He's rather patient and spends most of the night watching, studying and waiting before attacking.'

That was another thing Severus had suspected it'd be a problem but Potter was being able to manage rather well, Golden Boy rarely let any emotion crawl onto his voice as he gave Snape his professional insight on their current case. It was better to think of the potion they had to brew rather than thinking about the person they were making it for. Any kind of attachment would only get in the way.

Potter seemed to know this marginally well, and for the most part he kept his report as clinical as possible. He had his occasional slips; it was Potter after all, but nothing that Severus couldn't simply dismiss with a belittling sniff.

'So you decided to preserve this particular trade of his by numbing the others.'

'The sleeping draughts stopped working' Potter shrugged as he added a tad bit one of the crushed aforementioned seeds before adding it into the mix '… and so did sleeping pills.'

The careless comment was enough to make Severus feel suddenly ill, the vein on his left temple that throbbed incessantly when he was on the verge of having a blinding migraine was practically humming and he was almost certain it'd explode at any moment now.

'You' he managed through tightly clenched teeth '… mixed _muggle_ medicine with an ancient recipe of-'

'It worked', Potter stated with his everlasting, skin-crawling arrogance '… for six months straight. I only stopped using it when his body started to demand more than necessary. I wanted to help him, not turn him in a junkie.'

Severus pinched the tip of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and tried to loose a bit of the iron tension on his neck.

'Pray tell, what changes did you make to do such a monstrosity?'

* * *

Harry was having a very hard time keeping his eyes open. In retrospect, he didn't know why he even bothered to keep himself awake and functioning while Snape loomed over him and the cauldron before him. 

In the end, he figure it was for the best because if he was indeed up and aware, he would be wasting an inexorable amount of energy to keep himself from throttling Snape.

'That's the final product then?'

Harry promptly ignored the hint of disgust and the heavy portion of sarcasm his former teacher managed to compact in such a small and innocuous question.

'Yes.'

Another minute of disbelieving study. Snape managed to make anyone feel like an idiot even when he didn't say anything at all. Harry's tired brain and body were prompting hallucinations. Not for the first time that night, he expected the Slytherin to deduct house points.

'Are you sure you told me everything, Potter?'

That was the question that actually made a spark of life shimmer inside Harry. He had been forced to detail every single thing he did in the potion and had had to endure Snape mocking comments all night long– "You call that chopping, Potter?", "If that's how you select your ingredients, it's no wonder your students are incapable of producing a simple Burning Salve", "You already stirred 15 times counter-clockwise, Potter. I must rectify six years of criticism on your technique; I believed you didn't know how to read; now I see you never learned how to count."

One would think that with age and the influence of really late hours the other wizard would get sloppy but apparently Snape's sarcasm only bettered as the hours passed by. Enough was enough and Harry had had enough.

'I am sure, Snape', Harry forced himself to relax his jaw so not to give Snape the pleasure of knowing that his ceaseless provocations were getting at Harry 'It's 6 in the bloody morning, so yes, I'm pretty sure we've been throughout here.'

Snape stared at Harry, his face unreadable but the younger man could see a glimpse of something in those black eyes that looked suspiciously like a mocking laughter. With one last glance at the still cooling cauldron, and with an annoying rise of eyebrow, the Potions Master imperiously walked to the door.

'Very well', Snape replied without bothering to look over at Harry 'You may leave.'

'What?'

Again that tiny sparkle of anger was able to pierce Harry's sleepy numbness. He pushed back from the stool he had been using, almost knocking it over and soon was at Snape's heels.

'I have class in a few and I've got work to do', was the dry answer he got as the Slytherin waved dismissively towards his office's door 'You can show yourself out.'

Just like that, Snape warded the door to the laboratory again, locking himself in and Harry out. The younger professor stared at where the stone door had been in astonishment before he shook his head, too tired to actually feel anything but mild indignation. With a roll of eyes no one was there to see, Harry indulged in the only part of himself who was willing to put his foot down against Snape in that moment, the juvenile part.

'Bloody greasy git.'

* * *

In the years he directed Durmstrang, Headmaster Piotr Antokolsky was sure he had never seen such a sad picture. Messy hair, red-rimmed puffy eyes, owlish blinks and a couple of wrinkles inches on the robe's collar. It wasn't anything alarming for sure, there had been professors who had arrived at meals in a worse state. After all, it wasn't all that rare for Ivanov to arrive at the dinner table with bloody robes because he had to wrestle a vicious Cerberus during one of his classes. 

Also, at least once a year, Arctic Hilstrong showed up at lunch with burned robes because a couple of third-years had managed to put the class, and their professor, on fire when they were introduced to a lighter – it didn't really matter how many times the Muggle Studies teacher warned them to be careful, or was careful to keep anything inflammable out of reach, these accidents always happened.

Even with all the inevitable mishaps, there was one class that was absolute when it came to disasters but not even when he tutored children and adolescents on Potions, with all the daily explosions and collateral affects of a draught gone wrong, had Harry Potter ever looked so miserably put out as he did that morning.

The most famous wizard in the world could barely hide an indecent yawn as he slumped on his chair. Piotr watched as the usually quiet, but undoubtedly alert, young teacher sat motionless for a few second before jumping slightly on his seat as if someone had just poked him into motion.

The dark-haired young man groaned in retaliation at his invisible abuser and reached blindly to the large mug that suddenly appeared before him. What really gave Piotr a start was the fact that Harry didn't even stop to check what he was drinking before he downed most of the dark liquid in one go.

Something was really off if Harry Potter stomped over his morning paranoia just for the sake of drinking coffee.

'Merlin, Harry' Piotr prodded with his usual crude honesty '…you look bloody awful.'

Harry didn't even bother to answer the jest accordingly; he merely shrugged with his face still firmly attached to the porcelain he was clutching as if it was his very sanity.

'Good Morning, Piotr', Harry said after a long swallow, or at least that was what Piotr figured the unintelligible sound that left his friend's mouth had meant.

'What is it? Having problems sleeping again?'

Piotr was the only one in Durmstrang that knew about Harry's nightmares. Of course, after a war, Potter wasn't the only one who was plagued with things he wished he could forget but he was probably one of the very few who had been dealing with them on an almost nightly basis for over 15 years.

'No', Potter groaned 'I just didn't sleep at all, that's what.'

'Insomnia?'

Harry shook his head as he rubbed his eyes, not even bothering to take off his glasses. Swiftly Antokolsky did that for him, knowing how terrible it would be if one of the students saw their professor in such a vulnerable state.

So worried he was to remain inconspicuous about what he was doing that Piotr almost didn't catch the answer.

'Snape.'

'What?'

_Why, that should be interesting_, thought Piotr. The whole staff had a wager going on to see who was going to lose it first, Harry or Severus. Everyone knew that those two had a very shaky relationship at the best of times; that was why Potter testimony at Snape's trial had shocked everyone.

Who would have thought that the Boy-Who-Lived would actually be magnanimous enough to fight for his hated Potions professor's life against the Ministry?

The real reasons behind Harry's actions on that regard were still unknown. Piotr had seldom talked to his former schoolmate about the war, every single one of them had their own woes and ghosts to deal with and of them all Potter was definitely the one who carried most of the weight.

Well, maybe not the only one, for Severus Snape had survived two wars and it was stupid to think that the prices he had paid for his survival had been small. Sometimes Antokolsky looked at his once Head of House and realized he couldn't even fathom the depth and number of the scars the older man carried and would carry for the rest of his existence.

_They are more similar than they think_, the Headmaster caught himself thinking, _and maybe that's why they dislike each other so much._

Harry obviously took his time to elaborate an answer and dutifully Piotr waited until his friend emerged from his second mug of black, strong and unsweetened energetic.

'He made me stay with him,' Piotr could clearly hear the unsaid swearing here '... making and discussing potions, all night long.'

The young Headmaster's face bloomed with the aloof and vaguely amused smirk he sometimes had and that he knew Potter hated deeply. It wasn't something Piotr really controlled but he figured it was a reminiscence of his seventh-year at Hogwarts and that would explain why Harry disliked that particular expression so much. After all, it was a slightly different version but Antokolsky had indeed picked it up from a certain silver-haired fellow Slytherin.

'Intellectual debate, I see', he commented airily waiting for the expected rebuke.

'Shut up, Piotr.'

'Don't tell me you didn't appreciate it, Harry', Antokolsky smirked as he watched his friend fighting to keep his eyes open, drink as much coffee as he could and try to breath all at the very same time 'You always were desperate to find someone to talk to you about chopping roots and scrubbing cauldrons.'

Harry snorted in a much undignified way, running his hands through his hair. That gesture was enough to show Piotr just how completely exhausted his DA professor really was. Potter had given up doing anything whatsoever about his hair years before and that was the reason why he had let it grow somewhat. Nowadays he rarely did anything to disturb the dubious truce he had finally conquered with his temperamental mane.

'You just summarized my five years of Potions classes and detentions with Snape', Harry commented in a sleepy but clearly mocking tone.

'Exactly' the Headmaster covered an almost imperceptible chuckle with a discreet cough '... and look at you now.'

'Yeah,' Harry grunted after he downed his third mug of coffee 'Look at me now.'

This time Piotr didn't even bother to mask his laughter.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_

I had a lot of trouble with this chapter so I apologize if it isn't as good as it could have possibly been. I've been working on it on-and-off for quite a while and even thought I'm still not really pleased with the outcome, I decided to post it anyway. Life has been chaotic lately and a writer's block -- that just wouldn't go away -- didn't make it any easier for me to sit down and write whenever I had time to do it. Just know that I haven't and won't abandon this fic any time soon. **Snapesfavorite** again is to blame for this chapter, for all her support, ideas and for putting up with my endless whining. Please do check her beautiful fic, "_In this world for you_". That's what good fiction is all about.

General useless information:

_Catnip_: It has anodyne, antispasmodic, aromatic, carminative, and diaphoretic properties.

_Balm_: Its properties are antispasmodic, calmative, carminative, diaphoretic, emmenagogue, and stomachic.

_Willow_: The properties are anodyne, anti-spasmodic, and febrifuge. Its magical powers are flexibility, wisdom, intuition, dreams, emotions, and rebirth.

_Passion fruit_: In Brasil some say that eating too many seeds make one sleepy because of its calming properties.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine**_

_Wednesday, the 21__st_

A revealing cough that disturbed the heavy silence every few minutes was the only sound that could be heard in Severus' laboratory that night. It was already a quarter to 10 and two cauldrons, one of them considerably larger than the second, were being manipulated and worked on for over 2 hours.

Severus was focused on another batch of nutrition potions for Madam Inas. He was loathe to admit that he rather missed the habit of brewing potions for an infirmary, even if he did complain rather fiercely about doing so. He had never tired to tell Poppy to just let the dunderheads suffer through their recovery; he believed it was the best way to make sure the students never attempted to do anything idiotic enough to get them in her care in the first place.

But taking in consideration Ingrid's method of dealing with her patients and the fact that even that didn't put the most careless students on hold, he doubted anything else would. Severus was sure the mediwitch was making the two seventh-years Brontë in her care were lectured to exhaustion about the imbecility of preparing and drinking an illegal and experimental potion to try and lose weight in record time.

The chits had almost seriously damaged their internal organs and body with that stunt. If Snape himself hadn't scented the sicken sweet smell of the belladonna, and Inas hadn't noticed with acute precision that the girls seemed to eat nothing at all and lost about 15 pounds in only two days, a few restorative draughts and rest would be the very least the young women would need.

As it happened, they were to stay for a week in the infirmary and were forced to eat every single one of their most hated meals, like rare liver beef and beet salad. Even though the food indeed provided ample nourishment, Severus very much doubted they were needed when taken with his potions.

It was Ingrid's personal and most effective method of persuasion when belittling lecture wouldn't do. Each day Snape approved of her more and more. Even though he was focused on his stirring and chopping, Severus didn't miss the tension that was oozing from his apprentice.

Ever since Ernest had arrived for their evening lessons he had looked unusually anxious and doubtful. Severus had caught his student opening his mouth to say something and then haltingly snapping his mouth closed in rapid succession several times. Normally Snape would press people to talk, the very situation galling him but for some reason he decided to let Ernest Hamilton be, let the boy find his way around whatever he wanted to say. Severus could easily ignore the childish behavior, he was good at it.

As it happened, Ernest must have decided that almost 3 hours of procrastination was enough.

'Professor?'

'Yes, Mr. Hamilton?' Snape asked without looking up 'Are you having problems with your Peace Potion?'

Severus knew the answer for that question but since Ernest didn't seem ready to fill in anything else he just used his most disbelieving and contemptuous tone. It normally pushed people to get to the point. With Hamilton it was no different.

'No, sir. I have already started on the Felix Felicis.'

A slight stutter was enough to make Severus' patience and aloofness grow thin. It had taken his pupil a rather long time but Ernest had come about his fear and wasn't the same annoyingly impressionable teenager around his professor.

Snape took a deep meaningful breath and let his eyes search for Ernest's hazel ones. The boy was hunched over his ingredients, obsessively rearranging them over the worktable.

'Very well,' the professor took a deep and annoyed breath before adding knowingly 'Then what is it?'

Ernest looked around nervously and that made the older man frown. Escaping routs, Hamilton was looking for escaping routs that hadn't happened in a long time. The boy was also wriggling his hands together, the muscles of his jaw working furiously. Something was really off in the way the boy was acting.

Closing his eyes tightly for a few seconds, Ernest seemed to be gathering his strengths and courage to say whatever it was he needed to say.

'I'd like to,' the student averted his eyes to a stained spot on the worktable '...ask your ...permission ...to be absent ...of our class ...for the weekend ...sir.'

The unnecessary pause between every couple of words was unusual as well as rather irritating. Hamilton was a well-spoken adolescent, unexpectedly so for his age and he refrained from doing anything other than acting like a man on the making, especially around Severus.

The older man knew that his opinion was important to his student, Snape wasn't foreign to the feeling of being looked up to – despite of what people might imagine. He wasn't a model of sociability or beauty; Severus had never been and had lost the desire to try to become one when he was still barely shy out of kindergarten.

Still, Snape was a powerful wizard, one that, despite of most of it being of the scornful type; inspired a lot of respect. Not many could really appreciate Severus' value but someone always did, even if ephemerally.

Draco Malfoy had been one of those, and one of the few Severus had actually given any sort of credit to. Sometimes he could remember the late night talks he had had with Lucius' son, the boy always willing to help Snape with his researches and to learn a bit more about potions. Draco had never really cared about the craft, never really had the passion Ernest had for the subject but the subtle and precise power that such an activity demanded from and granted to a wizard had always fascinated the Slytherin.

Draco had inherited Lucius' poise, his quick thinking and his ruthlessness but unfortunately he had all of Narcissa's temper and stubbornness. A Black trait, Snape had once called it to Malfoy Sr.'s immense amusement.

Who would have thought that it was that same trait that would condemn nearly all members of that ancient wizarding family and take with it many others? Severus didn't like to think about it, about those last moments, that fateful year and all the collateral damage that it caused.

Severus shook himself mentally; it was no use to think about such things. Ernest was nothing like Draco and Snape couldn't help but resent and be thankful for that, all at the very same time. Hamilton was as self-assured and self-aware as Malfoy had been but Ernest was as controlled and focused as the Potions Master had ever wished Draco to be.

In a situation like this, Draco would be looking him right in the eye, not in a challenging way but still slightly defying. He wouldn't be nervously wriggling his hands together and looking anywhere but Severus. Still, Draco would dread rebuke and disappointment just as Ernest was in that moment.

'The whole weekend?', he asked blankly.

'Yes.'

The former spy nodded absentmindedly as his student shifted his weight from one leg to the other every few seconds. Reaching for a flask of hellebore, Severus waited for his cauldron to start shimmering before dropping a handful of the ingredient into it.

'I was already going to excuse you from your duty for the weekend, Mr. Hamilton.'

'I know, sir' Ernest replied with a subtle relieved sigh 'Still, I thought I should ...ask ...anyway.'

Severus nodded thoughtfully and began to stir his potion.

'Your potion is ready?'

'Yes', Ernest placed both hands over the worktable 'I always brew one in advance.'

'I see', was the noncommittal reply 'How is it going?'

Instead of answering the boy asked a question of his own.

'Have you talked to Prof. Potter, sir?'

'Why would I, Mr. Hamilton?' Severus raised one of his eyebrows, making his student blush slightly.

'My potion ...although Prof. Potter did make it better and stronger -'

'... it hasn't worked in quite a while, has it, Mr. Hamilton?'

'No, sir.'

'How long?'

'Over eight months.'

Severus was shocked but hid it with his usual impassive grace. Over eight months. Potter had made him think that the problems with the potion had been going on for a good amount of time but not so long. Looking at Ernest, Snape took in the boy's fidgeting and obvious unease and finally realized the last piece of the puzzle.

Hamilton hadn't told Potter about his problems with his potion. The boy knew that his – he hated to think of the Golden Boy this way but still it didn't change the fact that he was one now – professor would notice the signs sooner or later but Ernest most certainly wasn't the one who warned Potter of what was happening.

Suddenly the Potions Master was reminded of something he hadn't thought in a long while: "_He made me chain him_". Again he was consumed with curiosity to know what exactly had happened, what a 14 years old boy would do or say to convince an adult – even if this adult was a complete imbecile – to chain him during the full moon.

Severus remembered that Lupin had done the same thing during his stay at Hogwarts during Potter's third year. And taking in consideration the werewolf's battered wrists; Lupin was probably more than used to doing that to himself. Was it something Mr. Hamilton was only currently indulging himself in or was it something he had learned from the older dark creature?

Somehow Snape doubted that Remus Lupin had ever found fit to tell an adolescent to physically restrain himself, even if this adolescent happened to be a ruthless and savage monster once the moon was round and ever watchful.

No, Hamilton most certainly had decided that all by himself. But still it didn't change the fact that he had convinced Potter to chain him, and that in itself seemed ludicrous. Apparently absolutely necessary, but still outrageous. Severus couldn't imagine his former student relenting easily in such an endeavor, in this life or the next. No matter how logical it could sound.

The only explanation for that was that the boy's current potion wasn't helping in the least and left the young man without any sense of reality whatsoever to make him distinguish himself from the beast that took over him every month.

And it most certainly explained Potter's utter desperation to convince Snape to take the other's former position at Durmstrang.

'It has been working less and less each month, hasn't it?' Severus asked knowingly.

'Yes.' Ernest sighed resignedly 'It's been a few months that I ...Prof. Snape, sir?'

Severus raised an eyebrow at the boy's procrastination. It wasn't like Hamilton to beat around the bush like that. The clear amber eyes were pale with what could only be apprehension and doubt. So apparently this little heart-to-heart wasn't over, then.

'Yes, Mr. Hamilton?'

Ernest looked at Severus, clearly trying to make some dire decision. Snape tried to figure out what could possibly be and he couldn't fathom the reason for the boy's hesitation. The young man had already confided the current inefficiency of his potion but obviously was nowhere near asking assistance on that regard anytime soon.

Severus could understand why his student was being so wary about approaching the subject with him. The Slytherin wasn't known for his charitable persona and he knew that very well but it didn't mean that if given the right motivation, or if asked in the right way, he wouldn't accept any challenge thrown his way.

That had been one of the reasons why Severus offered Ernest Hamilton an apprenticeship. The adolescent had talent no doubt but there was no way Snape could work on his pupil's potion without the boy's direct participation on the process.

'I'd like to tell you something but I'd like to ask you to, please, do not mention it to Headmaster Antokolsky, sir.' The blonde looked away briefly and frowned deeply 'If he found out, Prof. Potter might get in trouble and none of this is his fault. He's merely doing what I have asked him to and he only follows my request because we both know there is no other way.'

Severus had never been good with giving reassurances. He had always loathed hearing them and he had never cared to learn how to give them. Snape reached out for one of the sharp knives from his endless collection and rolled it in his left hand for a moment before chopping the rest of the roots on his worktable, the professor decided to deal with that situation like he always did.

'I trust you to keep all the knowledge I am giving you, do I not?'

He heard Ernest stutter slightly, he had obviously started the younger man.

'Yes, sir.'

Waving absentmindedly to the cauldrons between the both of them, Severus continued on without even bothering to look up.

'Potions are my life, Mr. Hamilton, the only reason why I am here today. I trusted it to you. So, yes, I believe you can indeed trust me if you wish.'

'I know, sir. I never meant to disrespect you but you do understand that –'

Putting his knife aside and dismissing anything the other had to say along those lines, Snape interrupted him dryly.

'Yes, I know, Mr. Hamilton.'

The silence that stretched after that was tense and quite understandable. Severus was sure his pupil was coming to a serious and defining decision. It wasn't like him to indulge in that kind of moment but it was necessary, he had been waiting for that moment and it was important that the initiative came from Hamilton.

With a deep breath, the 16 years old gathered his courage himself.

'Professor', Ernest waited until Snape looked at him before swallowing visibly and continuing on '...would you mind to follow me? I would like to take you somewhere.'

* * *

When they walked up in the direction of the main hall Snape was indeed intrigued about where the boy would lead him. When they again began their descend through the special staircase that lead to the Headmaster's office, he was positively suspicious about the fact that Ernest knew the private password to a secret passage that was successfully hidden at the seemingly dead end outside the imposing wooden door of Antokolsky's quarters. 

But when they reached a tunnel, that clearly was taking them deep into the underground of the school, Severus was sure he wasn't going to like whatever Hamilton was going to show him.

The tunnel was large and enabled him and Hamilton to walk side by side without brushing past each other or having to hunch. That was really impressive for the student was well over 5 feet 8 and Severus was slightly over 6 feet 2. Usually, secret tunnels tended to be incredibly slim and uncomfortable, at times very useful, but still horrible for his back.

As they went on, Snape tried to figure out where this was going to end. The boy at his side was silent, solemn even. _In a very twisted way_, the professor thought. In fact, that was the first time he had ever seen Ernest at ease outside his dungeons or far away from Potter. The young man had the same calm expression he had when he was working on a cauldron, as held a torch he had lit with a controlled _Incendio_ and was now carrying with masterful intimacy.

Did this mean that he felt comfortable there?

This boy was so unusual, so different, dark and indescribable that Snape couldn't help but feel absolutely uneasy with the many sides of Hamilton that reminded him of --- himself.

Obviously he never had been bitten by a werewolf at the mere age of five, neither did he have a brother with whom he had witnessed his parent's suicide (even if for a greater cause, there was no other way to put it) and never had he seen them being slay by a horde of werewolves, but Severus knew what it was like to have one solo source of joy and sanity. He had seen the boy at his classes, had watched him during the meals and studied him every evening at their extra lessons.

Ernest didn't have friends, Severus was quick to notice. Hamilton talked to some of his schoolmates, as Potter had assured him in the summer, but somehow the professor was sure that his pupil did it more for someone else's sake than his own.

Hamilton clearly had serious problems with one of his housemates and some other students. Severus hadn't been able to completely figure out what the issue was for certain, but something kept nagging at the back of his head and clenching his guts rather fiercely whenever he thought about it – making him afraid of already knowing what the reason for the constant bully from Mr. Masson really was about. Hamilton was the best in his year, but he was nowhere as annoying as Potter's know-it-all friend or a show-off as Percival Weasley had been.

Ernest was quiet, efficient and mostly avoided to bring any type of attention to his person. Talking with the other professors, Snape had learned that his class and Potter's were the only two that Ernest truly participated in a public manner. The other members of the staff had told Severus that even though they all were aware that Mr. Hamilton knew the answers for the questions they asked in their class, the boy rarely ever answered them.

"Ernest is an incredible student, out of the ordinary intelligent and focused", Dimitri Boyd, Nárvhalr's Head of House and the Transfiguration professor, had told him once "...but he is dreadfully introverted and highly secretive. What is either a very helpful quality, or merely a troubling flaw."

Naturally Potter had overheard the conversation and found fit to defend Mr. Hamilton rather heartily. That was another thing Snape couldn't quite put together in the big picture. He understood that perhaps the Golden Boy had taken to himself the part of the boy's surrogate brotherly figure while his student was at Durmstrang, especially if Hamilton had been so close of Lupin, who was nothing else but a surrogate godfather to Potter. But still, they were indeed far too close than Snape would've anticipated.

It obviously had been a hard decision to Ernest to choose between his lessons with the Potions Master and his apparent confidant. Potter had been affected as well, if his constant scowl and grunting were any indication he was far from pleased at the fact that Severus had prohibited Hamilton of telling him or anyone anything about their lessons.

Severus couldn't care less; he wasn't about to change his only condition anytime soon, least of all for the sake of the bloody Boy Who Lived's peace of mind.

'This way, Professor.'

The boy's soft voice echoed and reverberated through the tunnel as if he had howled. The unpleasant feeling Severus had felt came back full force, and he had a hard time concealing it. At least, that was what he thought, for Snape was sure Ernest wouldn't be able to tell that the Potions Master was uncomfortable not, even if he had been indeed looking up at Severus.

The younger one stopped before an iron door, and a chill went up and down Snape's spine.

A cell.

A hidden dark cell.

Severus shook his head to try and keep all the screams, the moaning and writhing, pleading and laughter deep inside his mind.

_It's over_, he repeated to himself, _it's over, Severus. Pull yourself together, damn it._

Snape took a deep breath and closed his hands into fists at his sides, willing himself to follow his mind's barked order. When he finally was in complete control of himself again, Severus felt his sweat turn cold at the small hissing sounds that came from the young man before him.

Parseltongue.

'What in Hades' name are you doing?'

The hissing stopped abruptly and the former Death Eater couldn't help the relieved sigh that left his mouth. Ernest was looking up wide-eyed at him, apprehensive and surprised. Perhaps he had been harsher than he had thought, but in all honestly Severus was glad. It was better to know that he had used his most aggressive tone and not the pleading one he dreaded that could have left his mouth.

'I'm opening the door, sir', Hamilton answered readily and warily '...it's well protected so only Prof. Potter and I can get it open.'

'I doubt this is someplace any of the other students could simply stumble to.'

'Most certainly not, sir, but I – ' the boy interrupted himself '_We_ don't want to take chances.'

Snape only nodded once. He knew that the boy would reassume the hissing soon and he pierced his nails on the heels of his hands, grounding his teeth tightly.

'I see Prof. Potter taught you Parseltongue.'

Ernest expression could only be described as crestfallen. The boy genuinely looked disappointed.

'Only this password really', he answered the unasked question then contradicted himself with slight shrug 'Well, not really. I had to memorize the sounds without really understanding the meaning. Prof. Potter says he doesn't fully know how to speak the dead language only that he does understand it and speak it. He said he wouldn't be able to teach me, even if he wanted to.'

Severus discerned in that subdued tone that the unwilling withhold of knowledge bothered Ernest. One more thing that Snape could identify with, even if he had learned to abhor that particular skill inherited by Salazar's heirs and whatnot.

'It is a rather long password' he commented in a deceiving uncaring tone.

'I came up with it. Prof. Potter said it had to be something both of us would memorize easily enough. And that maybe only we would think of. We-'

'…weren't taking chances, yes.'

'It's a quote from Epictetus', Ernest looked vaguely anxious, what made Severus sure that the boy was trying to hold back his excitement 'Prof. Potter lent me a book with several quotes and biographies once, and he has the habit of underlining his favorite bits. There was this one quote that he had underlined and that I really liked it. We talked about it many times and it only seemed natural to turn it into our password.'

Severus refrained from berating the uncontrollable babbling, mostly because he could see Ernest was downright put out at himself for doing it in the first.

'You don't have to tell me the password, Mr. Hamilton', he stated plainly in a rare surge of unmasked sincerity 'Even if I did know what it was, I most definitely wouldn't be able to use it for I have no knowledge or desire to learn it in Parseltongue.'

Hamilton nodded his understanding and looked back at the door. Severus could see the boy reaching for it with his free hand, his thumb fondling the handle thoughtfully. The young man took a few seconds saying the whole password again and took a deep breath before pushing the door open; there was no mistaking that the boy was hesitating greatly to show whatever was behind the door.

Whatever Hamilton's reason had been, Snape couldn't really understand Ernest's sudden need for reassurance. At least, he didn't until Ernest lit the many torches in the room with a simple _Lumos_.

Snape was speechless. Before him wasn't an empty room, or any paraphernalia he could have conjured up just to appease his imagination. In ways it was way worse. He was suddenly standing right in the middle of a clearing. Enormous trees surrounded him and he could hear the cricking of insets and other nature creeping sounds. The more he looked, the more he tried to relocate himself, the more Severus was sure he had been there before.

The smell was strong, that of unmoving and perpetual forest, there was something musk and indescribable about it. Something forbidden.

And then it hit him, he had seen those trees before, at least he had seen the original on what those replicas had been based on. Ernest Hamilton might not know but he had part of the Forbidden Forest in that room. Before he could say anything regarding his latest epiphany, Hamilton was talking again.

'Prof. Potter and Prof. Antokolsky enchanted it with the help of a friend of theirs', Ernest kept his voice low, almost reverent '… so I'd have all the space I'd need.'

Severus was stumped. He was in the middle of what was undoubtedly half of the forest he had lived close by for over 20 years, a feat like that demanded a great amount of power and Transfiguration skill. Snape knew for sure that Piotr had taken a mastering at that kind of magic; McGonagall herself had introduced him to one of the best Transfigurations Masters in the world after Antokolsky graduated. Potter had never really shown much talent on the craft, but then again Potter was rarely ever outstanding in any class back at Hogwarts that wasn't Defense Against the Dark Arts.

After Voldemort's defeat – Severus had forced himself to name the devil many years before – Potter had proved he had power, raw and untrained as it was. From what Snape had witnessed in the final battle and everything he had learned in those months of unwitting correlation at Durmstrang, Potter had learned to control and focus his magic but that didn't change the fact that sheer power alone wouldn't be enough to help build such a solid and flawless alternative universe inside that room.

That left the third person Hamilton had mentioned. It had to be someone who'd be able to channel Piotr's natural talent and Potter's magical ability, blending the two together and making it all possible. It had to be someone with unquestionable magical knowledge as well an impressive amount of control. Severus had his suspicion on who had actually aid his boss and co-worker in the task.

Ernest watched him unblinkingly, gauging his reactions as Snape took in the environment slowly and carefully. Snape analyzed every inch his eyes could see, every tree, bushes and even the open starless night above them. An unwanted feeling of homesickness took hold of Severus' heart, in such a merciless way that he almost couldn't breath for a moment. That was when he caught a glimpse of something on the ground, something that sparkled and was clearly not part of the magically altered ground. He walked slowly towards it, guided by the clear moonlight what he saw made him look up inquiringly at Mr. Hamilton.

'This - is a recent development', the dirty blonde young man said quietly, nodding towards the shackles that shone obscenely midst the dead leaves 'Before, Prof. Potter could keep me under control. Even when the potion didn't work quite as expected...but it's been a while since --'

Ernest swallowed forcefully and took a deep breath before continuing; he didn't meet Severus' eyes and kept on looking at the silver fetters.

Silver, the only thing that could and would hurt and stop a werewolf on rampage.

'He couldn't restrain me', Hamilton continued almost too softly for Severus to catch the words 'I was completely immune to any of his spells and most of his wards. I almost –'

The sudden halt was enough to give away all the fear and guilt the boy was trying to keep from his voice.

'The blood-' Ernest's breath caught tellingly but the boy's expression remained blank 'I-I found him unconscious. In the morning. At least, I didn't bite him', he sighed in defeat 'I practically - ripped him apart. I could cast the spell myself and do not put him through this ...but I could break it'

The pleading tone, the need for understanding was crystal clear in the boy's voice, even if Hamilton still refused to look his professor in the eyes. Severus listened, quiet and ever observant as he absorbed everything.

'I need someone else to cast it' the young pupil stated firmly, his tone almost bordering on fierceness 'He didn't want to do it. He refused. He said he'd never do something like this to me. That it wasn't right and that we would find another way.'

'But the potion was no longer working' Ernest's words were strained now with helplessness 'I tried to find a way to strength it. I tried everything I could think of but there was nothing. By that time, he had realized that the potion's power on me was growing thin and I know he's still trying to find a way to make it work again.'

Snape watched as his student forced himself to unclench his fists and raised his chin from his chest to meet his tutor's gaze. The boy looked knackered, beaten and scarred, he looked far too young, far too resigned, far too thin and tired. It was the first time that Snape really looked at Ernest.

Sure enough he had watched the boy relentlessly during their tutoring, capturing little things, quirks and habits like Ernest's perpetual battle with his hair – that insisted to find an unwanted place over his eyes every few second. Severus had picked on Hamilton's lacking sleep and eating habits, he had smelled the insecurity and almost non-existent backbone but Snape had never really looked at the boy.

The professor had never seen the pale, silvery scar that ran over Ernest's jaw, nor had he seen the indentations he carried on top of his left hand between his thumb and forefinger. Snape had never seen the closed, but poorly healed, injury on the young man's bottom lip; one that had left a pinkish mark that became white whenever Hamilton bit it savagely – what only happened when the younger man was nervous, as Ernest was in that moment.

Severus had never before realized how much Ernest Hamilton reminded him of Remus Lupin.

And just as soon as that realization hit him, the Potions Master knew exactly why he hadn't allowed himself to notice all the signs. Because that wouldn't make Ernest his pupil, it'd bring old resentment to the face of someone far too young to handle it or even deserve it. Despite of his anger, his bitterness, Severus had never hated Lupin because of his condition. Lycanthropy had never been something one could control, least of all back in a time when murderous beasts such as Greyback were on the loose.

It was something else, something that had always evoked pure horror, distrust and disgust in Snape: cowardice. There was no other way to put it, Lupin himself had admitted as much when he went back from whatever downright pack he had been with to Hogwarts in Potter's third-year.

Severus doubted he could ever forgive Lupin for bowing down and keeping silent for all the humiliation he witnessed, for every abuse and unfair attack Potter Senior and Black used to put Snape through. All because the werewolf was too much of a coward to stand-up to his friends, and of course, irony would have it that Remus Lupin was the only one in that quartet that actually saw anything wrong with the way Severus was bullied.

It wasn't what he was that the Potions Master couldn't stand, it was who Lupin had been and probably would forever be that irked Snape. Why, hadn't the werewolf taken the easy way out and disappeared as soon as he found out about what had happened with his dear friends? Hadn't he left, without a word, not even caring about the destiny of the son of his so-called friends? Lupin was weak, had ever been and Severus couldn't stand that about him.

But Ernest was a different story. Hamilton wasn't weak; he was subdued, resigned, controlled and extremely self-aware. He didn't provoke anyone, neither did he allow anyone to be bullied before him, but he had the odious habit of taking everything people ditched out to him and for the life of him, Severus couldn't understand why.

'I can't wait' Ernest said limpidly, locking his gaze with his professor's and making sure he had the older man's undivided attention 'I can't keep on waiting. Not with him here with me every month. I didn't bite him for two months straight but I still don't know how.'

'Each time I woke up to find him like a-', amber eyes darkened in what was suspiciously like fear, his breath catching slightly every now and again '...a ragged doll... made of flesh and blood... I begged him to do it. It was either this or leaving me here alone but he wouldn't. He said he wouldn't leave me alone. So he chained me. And he has been doing it ever since.'

The silence that followed was heavy and oppressing, yet neither one said a thing. Hamilton continued to look into Severus' eyes, waiting for the former Death Eater's indignation or perhaps scathing remarks. Snape offered none.

'What do you do when you're at home?' he asked neutrally throwing the boy off-balance for a second.

'I go to Mr. Remus Lupin's' at the unasked question in the intense onyx eyes, he added 'I grew up there after my parents died. He and Miss Tonks took care of my brother and me for 3 years. When we decided to move, they made me promise that I'd go there every full moon. I agreed.'

'Mike doesn't like it very much. He feels –' Ernest flinched as if someone had slapped him and looked away quickly, closing his fists tightly again '...useless and I hate to make him feel like this but... but there's nothing he can do about it. Nothing _I_ can do about it. Mike, Michael, is my older brother.'

'I see', was all Snape said, not giving away he had already known most of it 'Did he come to Durmstrang too?'

'Yes, but he finished his studies at Hogwarts.'

Severus nodded and knelled to take a closer look at the shackles, there were two and they were firmly attached to the ground. They were protected and charmed in every way possible; running his right hand over one of them Severus could sense what were unquestionably a very strong Indestructible Charm, as well as an ancient and almost unbreakable Protective Charm.

'I gather there is a deeper reason for you to show me all of this, other than you trying not to rise my fury at your irresponsible absence from your duties for days, Mr. Hamilton' Snape commented as he studied the silver fetters.

A light bustling of robes told him that Hamilton was fidgeting, a habit that Severus had only witnessed a handful of times and that had never been seen by anyone else but himself and Potter.

'Yes', the boy started to slowly address the masked inquiry 'I'd like to try and make my potion work. Prof. Potter is good, and he has done much for me so far but I see how he's frustrated that he can't think of anything as well. I know you can find a way to make the potion work on me again' the impressive amount of faith and certainty in that young voice forced Severus to look up at the boy 'I know you're the only one who can, sir. I don't want to be chained for the rest of my life and I don't want to force Prof. Potter to chain me forever either. It destroys him a little ...each time ...I can see it in ...in his eyes.'

_And clearly he's not the only one_, Severus thought carefully as his student fixed his glare at something else but himself.

'Very well, Mr. Hamilton', Snape replied airily as he stood up in one graceful move 'We will work together on this new experience. I figure it will be a good enough test for your seemingly unperturbed dedication.'

The happiness and relief were almost tangible, as they pulsed from deep inside the boy's soul. His magic was reeking of pleasure and hope, creating a small static shock effect that made the hair on the nape of Severus' neck stand to no end. He automatically sneered in response and that got Ernest to force his magic back to acceptable normalcy but the boy didn't quite manage it.

'Thank you, sir' the student said in a polite and formal tone that belied the giddiness in his eyes.

'Not so fast, boy', Snape warned viciously, his lips twitching when his stern words were enough to make Hamilton get a hold of his annoying excitement '...you must know by now that everything in life has a price, every deal have it's drawbacks. I have two conditions, Mr. Hamilton.'

Ernest was suddenly as grave as he was in class. With his face marked by a precocious maturity that had no business marking his features in the first place.

'What are they, sir?'

'First, I will stay here with you and Mr. Potter during your social withdrawal', Severus continued ruthlessly as soon as the boy's mouth opened '...and I don't want to hear any excuses or protests against my decision. From either one of you, so you will have to tell your Dark Art professor not to bother me about this.'

The adolescent looked decidedly put out, very aware that he had been cornered into agreeing to something he wasn't OK with at all. Severus allowed himself a ghost of a smile.

'Yes, sir' was the almost groaned answered.

'Since you'll be at it, you shall tell your Dark Arts professor that he will assist us in this research.'

'You want Prof. Potter to work with us?' Ernest sounded overly stumped to Snape's tastes.

'I don't _want_ anything, Mr. Hamilton' Severus stressed with a well placed curl of lips '...but seeing that you two have accomplished so much working together, I believe I'll need both your assistance in this endeavor.'

Severus didn't say that it was most likely that the Golden Boy wouldn't have it any other way either, what meant that the ex-spy could only pretend that the insufferable idiot's presence was his own decision, or Snape'd have to deal with Potter's endless whining. For obvious reasons the Potions Master chose the first option. The blonde boy merely nodded and offered his hand.

'Thank you, sir, thank you very much.'

Snape looked at the hand before him, and then back into those wise light eyes. He relented, and took a firm hold of the young hand, knowing that now more than ever he was committing himself to something that he didn't really know he was quite prepared for, or if he truly wanted to face just now.

That not withstanding, Snape shook his student's hand, ignoring the way the boy's magic made the hairs on his arms stand at the barest touch. Hamilton really did need to control his magic just as much as the boy could control his facial expression.

'Let's go, Mr. Hamilton', Severus stated with his no nonsense voice that always got people moving 'I do believe you have a Felix Felicis waiting for you at my dungeons.'

The boy nodded and quickly led them back to his professor's private laboratory, forcing his tutor to dispel bothersome and unavoidable cackles of excited magic on the way.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm really sorry for taking so long to post this chapter. I hope you enjoy it anyway, and I sincerely hope Chapter 10 will be up soon. 


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten**_

_Thursday, the 22__nd_

Severus had no idea why he was forced to have certain conversations with certain people. He had learned that the most important subjects, the ones that actually should be discussed rarely ever were even mentioned.

Most of the time those subjects are the first ones to be ignored and/or kept as a secret, which left only nonsensical stupidity or inane chatter in their place. Snape was known for his lack of patience when it came to anything he found idiotic, what actually filled up quite a long list. That was the main reason why he refused to talk about the obvious and meaningless, focusing his attention on what really mattered to him and the general situation he found himself in.

It was one of the things that had infuriated him the most about being a teacher. After all, children and adolescents were known for their appreciation for the imbecilic and they usually were too thick to grasp anything that was subtle and important. Albus Dumbledore had had a thing for going on and on in circles as well, talking about his sweets and any other nonsense instead of going straight to the point of his meetings.

That had always annoyed Severus. Before his first embarrassing demise, and before he developed an even stronger taste for the dramatic, Voldemort had cared only for straightforwardness. It was easier that way, he gave his Death Eaters less chance to fail to understand his wishes and normally resulted in successful missions, for it was indeed hard to miss the real implications behind orders such as "Torture the Longbottoms until they tell you all the information they have", or "Kill Joseph Bones and his whole family", or even "We shall rid the world of all traitors, mudbloods and muggles".

Curt, precise and direct.

Severus himself couldn't be arsed to talk in riddles – no pun intended. "It's 20 stirs clockwise and 10 counterclockwise", "I said chopping, not slicing, Weasley", "I'll get you expelled for this, Potter" or even, "If you really do need to curse him, make sure you won't get caught, Draco or you'll answer to me as well". Everyone got the message clearly enough and he didn't have to have useless longwinded chats, did he?

Snape had been just as clear two nights before when he told Mr. Hamilton that if his apprentice didn't give up that annoying and pathetic habit of doing his homework more than once every night, or if the boy insisted on making sure he had got his potions right over and over again, Severus would dismiss Ernest from their private lessons quicker than his pupil could list the ingredients of the Elixir of Death.

Apparently the threat had worked because now the dark circles under Ernest's eyes didn't look as pronounced as before and the boy actually seemed to eat during meals. Of course, the student looked overly tired still but it wasn't something that wouldn't be taken care of with just a few more days of actual rest. Besides, it wasn't as if Ernest Hamilton would look outrageously healthy this close to the full moon.

In Snape's opinion that was a subject that had been already dealt with and deserved no mention or even a rerun. As far as he was concerned the fact that any of it was only his student's business, and his to some extend, prevented any other person from intruding in the matter.

If said that anyone would indeed question Severus, or his pupil, about it merely on the sake of worry and good intentions, Snape had already a very good answer to give. As well as a very detailed instruction on what exactly this person should do instead of interfering.

Piotr had only once broached the subject, very subtly; asking Severus what he thought about Ernest's study schedule to what the Potions Master only replied that Hamilton was a rather disciplined and dedicated young man. Antokolsky never talked about it again, mostly because he had already sent his message and Snape had already acknowledged it as such.

As any other Slytherin, Durmstrang's Headmaster had left the matter in his former professor's hands, just as it should be done. But then again, it was maybe too much to expect that everyone would do the same.

Maybe not everyone, but it was exceptionally too much to expect from Durmstrang's resident Gryffindor.

So in ways, Severus figured he should have been expecting confront but after so many weeks of absolute ignorance and short words, he had let himself lax and now Snape was paying for his indulgence. It had always been obvious that Potter wouldn't let it go. When had he ever? In the young man's mind there was always an ulterior motive to everything Severus did.

The fact that all of Potter's assumptions had always been ludicrous and unfounded had never really stopped the Golden Boy before, had it? Hadn't been the Boy-Who-Lived's mind that had conjured up ridiculous reasons and justifications to back up Potter's conspiracy theories about Snape for seven years in a row?

Oh yeah, evil Snape wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, bully Snape cursed poor Potter's broomstick, creepy Snape was protecting Draco Malfoy the true heir of Slytherin, cruel Snape ruined Remus Lupin's life for the sake of being an unpleasant wanker, bastard Snape had charmed the Triwizard Cup to lead Potter to Voldemort and so on and so forth.

Harry Potter had been a crying, whining baby as a child, an irritation prone to tantrums as an adolescent and he continued to be just as insufferably righteous as an adult. Truth be told, Severus wasn't in the least bit surprised.

He hadn't been expecting the Dark Arts professor to barge into his office just after he had sent his students for lunch but that didn't mean Severus was surprised to see the unworldly green eyes sparkling with fury. Snape had seen that expression many times on Potter's face; it was the face that always settled whenever the potions expert poked James' son endlessly during class: the same face that had only hardened with an all-consuming desire for vendetta during a certain fateful night back at the Astronomy Tower. This older version wasn't as passionate, or revealing, but it didn't lack the determination, even if the murderous glint was dampened rather noticeably now.

Still, Severus hadn't been surprised when Potter's voice strained further with each word that left his mouth, nor was Snape surprised to find the younger man's hands balled into fists at his sides.

What indeed put the ex-spy on hold was the motive behind the scene he was witnessing, the reason behind all the indignation that Potter clearly kept on an iron grip to keep himself from yelling like his 15 years-old had at one time. The voice quavered but mostly with the effort Potter was putting into it to stop himself from bellowing his frustration, and even though his emerald eyes shone threateningly, the sneer he had on his face was deceivingly cool and casual.

It was staggering to see how much indeed the boy had grown and changed. If he had been anyone else, Severus would actually be impressed. As it happened, he couldn't be more indifferent at the display.

'You're putting him through suicidal shifts!' the young professor said harshly, interestingly refusing to flush even in his irate state.

'Do cease to be dramatic, Potter', Severus replied dismissingly not bothering to look up from the essays he was putting in alphabetic order.

For a moment Snape believed they were done with but Potter being the unpleasant whelp he was, didn't leave, as he should have had. It was more than clear that Severus wasn't going to indulge him, regardless of what scene he was planning to pull off, the subject of Ernest Hamilton's health was not one Snape cared to discuss anymore. He had said everything he had to say to Mr. Hamilton himself, so Severus certainly wasn't about to have that discussion again, or any other that wasn't absolutely necessary really, with Potter.

But the Golden Boy just wouldn't take a hint.

'He barely sleeps, Snape! He barely eats! He almost passed out in my class!'

'Than you should revise your academic program', Snape replied smoothly with irritating smugness 'If not even your best student is able to keep up, then surely you are doing something wrong. As usual.'

'Stop it', Potter hissed, apparently unconscious of the stretching of the consonant 'You know all of this is your doing, you won't get me to give in to you on this, Snape.'

If he were the type; that would be the time when Snape would have laughed. As it happened, he merely snorted and managed to convey so much contempt in that one sound that it was a wonder that Potter didn't try and hex him.

'I certainly do not remember a time in my life when I needed anything from you, Potter'; he replied challengingly 'Least of all your acceptance or permission to do anything I deem necessary.'

Even though the Golden Boy remarkably got a hold on his temper that didn't mean he hadn't been affected by the words, or the noise that followed them, but instead of showing one of his childish tics, Potter's body went completely taunt.

'Of course not', the younger man countered with the same tone 'You've always made it very clear that you'll do whatever the bloody hell you want …consequences to _other_ people be damned.'

That made Snape's eyes narrow to slits, his hands closing into tight fists. Who did the boy think he was? It was best he didn't even attempt to get Snape to unbury the past because Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't handle the experience. Potter had no idea how Severus was even more ruthless with the dead than he was with the living.

'Don't try to pretend you know me, Potter', the Potions Master spat the surname in a way he hadn't done in a very long time 'You won't ever get to scratch the surface.'

That seemed to really get a reaction from his former student and suddenly all the magic that had been cackling around them until then vanished. Snape hated the fact that he had lost control, even if infinitesimally and because of Potter no less but he'd chasten himself later for now he was too busy trying to read the Savior's indescribable expression.

It was the same aloof but polite look Potter had whenever Snape was around; the voice was unstrained, even if slightly lower and deeper than normal, but steady.

It was the same expression and voice that had made Severus Snape believe that his sacrifices had been for nothing, months ago at that art gallery. The green eyes sparkled with the same cold dare and detachment they had then.

'You spent most of your life lying, deceiving and living in a double standard policy that makes every single terrible thing you do to people justifiable while any small and inconsequential offense to your person deserving of capital punishment', the younger professor replied slowly and calmly before he cocked his head to the right, a dark smirk on his face 'Am I scratching _your_ surface, yet?'

Severus didn't even bother to respond and apparently Potter wasn't waiting him to for they both whipped their hands from out of the confines of their robes in record time, instinctively reaching and pointing out their wands at the other's throat. They would have used them without a second thought if the classroom's door hadn't flung open in that exact moment, snapping them out of their hatred-induced haze.

Piotr stood at the door, his face impassive and calm but his eyes shinning with wariness and weariness. He looked young and wise, in a way that not everyone his age did. It was the look of someone who had seen much, more than he should have had and had learned much more than most people did from it.

It was in that moment that Snape realized why his Slytherin had been chosen as Durmstrang's Headmaster, even though Piotr had been one of the two youngest members of the staff at the time. Antokolsky knew how to captivate his students' attention, respect and admiration; he also earned his professors' loyalty and support completely. He wasn't a natural leader, but he was a natural adviser and sometimes the last was better than the first.

'Severus, Harry', he said firmly and evenly '…I will give the two of you ten minutes to recompose and meet me at my office. Is that understood?'

Neither answered, as they continued to glare at each other.

'Will you answer me or do I have to _Imperio_ you two to make sure you will follow my request?'

'We will be there, Piotr' was Potter's terse answer.

'Very good.' Antokolsky replied and turned his back on them, and without bothering to turn around he merely stretched out his right arm and hand.

He turned the palm towards the two men who still stood stiffly face-to-face, silently threatening each other in a silent promise of continuing the initiated duel as soon as possible.

The plan backfired when their wands flew out of their hold, going straight to the Headmaster's right hand. The spell had caught both of them completely off guard, for it had been cast without any sound, and mostly because they were guarded against anything that could come from the other in front of them, silently or not.

'I shall keep these until then, if you don't mind.' Piotr commented airily.

* * *

The three men sat heavily but straight on their respective chairs, separated only by an opulent desk made of Spruce wood, so much so that it made the desk at the highest tower of Hogwarts look plebian. Piotr never really cared about it but he couldn't help but notice that whenever he was at the office, Harry would surredipiously frown at the richness of the furniture. 

Piotr was always amused to see his friend look uncomfortable whenever he was at the Headmaster's royal office, but then again that was the way Potter was -- Harry had complained at length about the size of his room when he first arrived at Durmstrang, claiming it'd take 100 years to make it look lived in if taken by a family of 20, let alone he who only used it to sleep in. But then again, Harry wasn't one used to appreciate luxury, and Piotr believed he never would, and what really surprised Antokolsky was the fact that he had caught a similar reaction from Severus.

The only difference was that the older man was sneering at the desk, while the Dark Art Master wrinkled his nose slightly. Piotr didn't take it personally, the desk had been there ever since the school was founded-- and it wasn't something he could change -- still, he couldn't help but wonder what had inspired such a response from Snape. As a Slytherin he should have been more than comfortable in such rooms, but it looked like that was not at all the case -- Severus seemed to be as skeptical about it as Harry always had been.

'Well, I must confess that it took you two longer than I ever expected', Antokolsky started, his voice dripping with irony '...considering your background, almost one whole month of peace was more than I ever dreamed of.'

'Are you trying to be amusing, Mr. Antokolsky?' Severus snarled displeased.

The response was immediate and most definitely anticipated but the irritated jade glint that came from the man next to Snape was enough to tell the Headmaster that Harry shared the Potions Master's sentiments.

'Not at all, Severus', Piotr replied undeterred but the sudden hardness in his ice-blue eyes was enough to discourage more interruptions 'I am merely stating my views on this abysmal behavior two highly qualified, if not the _most_ qualified, members of my staff showed just minutes ago. Although I must congratulate you for choosing a deserted classroom for that little attempt of duel of yours, it'd have been most definitely worse if your theatrical act had been performed in front of the students.'

Harry had the decency of looking slightly embarrassed but Severus only looked dejected – what really meant he was also displeased with his behavior. Piotr had always known that something was bound to happen between those two but he hadn't expected it to blow over like that.

He was glad that he had been fast enough and prevented any real confrontation between the professors – Piotr could only imagine the result of the combination of those two fierce and explosive temperaments and their respective dueling expertise.

_Nothing good_, Antokolsky was sure – especially because the tension was building for over a decade.

'I do know it must be dreadfully difficult for you two to be working together, and so close, regardless of how distant you might be most of the time. Still, I am forced to remind you both of two very important facts', the young Headmaster leaned forward slightly and managed to capture two pair of eyes in his. Before continuing, and making sure he had both men's attention, Piotr turned to Harry.

'_First_, you were the one who, with much effort and insistence, persuaded Severus to join us, Harry. You told me many times during the summer how much you wanted _him_ to fill your place as our Potions Professor and how you'd only give up the position if he was the one to take it from you.'

Potter looked decidedly put out by the revelation but Antokolsky didn't pay any heed at the scowl he was graced with. Piotr was sure that Harry would have never told Severus any of that and he knew the older man enough to know that if he wished the professors to achieve any kind of truce then something had to give.

Ignoring the suspicious glare Snape was sending Harry's way, the Headmaster waited until he had the former spy's attention and held Severus' bottomless gaze as he spoke.

'_Second_, I must remind you Severus that you _took_ the offer and I am sure that you did not do it on a whim. Meaning that you were aware of the fact that Harry would be your co-worker here, at least for this year alone. If I am not wrong, and you two are free to correct me, you had reached a compromise on the necessity of your association.'

Snape and Potter were careful not to look at each other at all, as they took turn glaring daggers at Piotr. He might not have the easy going, irritatingly pleasant personality Albus Dumbledore had had – then again probably no one else did or would ever have – but in his own Slytherin way Piotr was managing to irritate both men in ways that neither had been annoyed in several years.

'That being', the pale blue-eyed brunette leaned back on his seat before continuing '…I'd really like to solve whatever problem you have developed, _this time_, so you can continue to ignore each other as best as you can.'

This time it was Harry who spoke what was clearly going through both his and Snape's mind, for his tone wasn't only disbelieving but also highly derisive. _Only the sneer is messing, mate_, Piotr thought amusingly but keeping the joke to himself.

'I thought you'd want us to _befriend_ each other.'

'Oh, please, Harry' Antokolsky chuckled dismissively '…I'm a Slytherin remember? I just want you to stop trying to endanger my image as an exceptionally young, competent and dashing Headmaster', he said making sure he sounded exceedingly serious and earned twin ugly scowls for it '...other than that, as long as you don't kill each other or, dare I say, embarrass yourselves in front of your own students -- You can simply pretend the other dinning at your side is dead, and I wouldn't object in the least.'

Snape and Potter opened their mouth to answer the jest and the pleasant tone with which it had been delivered, but at the last moment they chose to censure themselves. Piotr was every single day more and more surprised at how very alike the two men were.

Still, it was clear that they weren't at each other's throat anymore and that was good enough for the Headmaster. If given the choice, Piotr would really preferred that they did get along, mainly for the sake of not having to always worry when Severus and Harry would lose it and try and kill each other, but Antokolsky knew that that was a moot point.

Durmstrang's Headmaster wasn't just kidding when he said that he wouldn't force them to do anything "unthinkable" – such as liking each other – but he was set on avoiding any confrontation. They were both adults after all, and Antokolsky expected them to act like such – at least, in front --or in the near vicinity-- of students.

'The behavior you witnessed today will not be repeated, Piotr' Severus grudgingly said after a couple of aborted tries.

'It won't happen again', Harry added firmly after taking his cue from their former professor.

'Good', Piotr replied sounding far too skeptical, if the sneer he got from Severus and the tightening on Harry's lips was any indication. Antokolsky grinned before making sure he brought the serious tone back to their conversation 'Now just so we can _really_ put this behind us... Harry, I am very aware of Ernest Hamilton's tutoring and I have given Severus unquestioned autonomy to conduct his pupil's extra lessons and homework, as well as his teaching methods.'

Potter nodded a couple of times, his jaw tensing in resignation and to keep himself from interjecting.

'I talked to Mr. Hamilton', Piotr added trying to reassure his young professor '…and he assured me that he is more than willing to work as hard as Severus wants him to. I also made Ernest promise me that he will come to me, or Severus, if he ever thinks that he's got more in his hands than he can handle, but I am sure that from the three of us you are the most apt to know if Ernest will give up any time soon.'

Harry looked tensely reassured and the tinge of resignation was still present in his eyes as he forced himself to answer the unasked question.

'Ernest will kill himself trying to please, but he will not admit defeat.'

Antokolsky nodded in assertion and offered his friend a smile before continuing. Severus, Piotr noted, was drinking thirstily every single word said, but the Potions Master paid especial attention at Potter's reactions and words. It would have unsettled anyone else but Piotr knew that Harry had had over 5 years of experience on being under Severus Snape's hard and unforgivable scrutiny.

'…and I understand that nothing I tell you will make you worry any less about Ernest and his decisions but I must remind you, Harry, that they are still his decisions and no one will be able to convince him to take them back.'

Something about his words made Snape look up at him sharply and the Headmaster was momentarily stunned at the flash of plain in those usually depthless black orbs. Piotr had gotten that reaction from his former Head of House a few times ever since the beginning of term but he never dared to ask the older Slytherin about it.

The look was fleeting and Severus masked it so quickly that it usual left Antokolsky wondering if he had seen it at all. It was always like that, every glimpse of humanity was immediately squelched and hidden – Piotr knew better than most that only young snaklings who had once awoken screaming because of nightmares, and had been stiffly comforted by the big greasy old Snape, could ever know about these cracks in the armor. And that was why none of those snaklings ever said anything about it and fiercely protected Severus Snape -- because in a house where almost every children was taught from the crib to handle things on their own, the Potions Master had been much more than just a professor.

Of course, that didn't mean that Piotr – and anyone other Slytherin – didn't know how unfair and ruthless their Head of House could be. It was one thing to admire the man whole-heartedly and other completely different to overlook his many flaws. That was why Piotr knew that he had much to say, yet.

'Still, Severus', the older man tilted his head almost imperceptively in acknowledgement '...I am fully aware, as your former student and Slytherin that you are the best, and quite frankly the only one who can fulfill Ernest's ambitions satisfactorily. I also congratulate you on giving him such an opportunity but I must remind you that he has more than one responsibility.'

Realizing that a storm was about to break, Antokolsky raised his hand slightly asking for patience and time to continue his monologue. Normally he wouldn't be arsed to bore people, himself included, for such a long time but it was obvious that he'd have to really interfere this time.

That was something Piotr rarely did, really – it wasn't Slytherin's way to get into other people's business, least of all another Slytherin's business (especially when the chances of getting burned in the crossfire weren't purely hypothetic), but if Antokolsky was being forced to lecture two fully-grown wizards, then he would make sure he wouldn't have to do it again.

'I am not asking you to _get soft_ on him', Piotr almost grinned when the narrowing of dark eyes told him he had assumed Severus' protest correctly '…I doubt you'd be able to and even if you did, Ernest wouldn't appreciate it--all I'm asking is that you try to be patient with the boy if it ever comes to it and do not simply take back this opportunity you offered him for the smallest mistake on his part'.

A look passed between them, a look that peaked Harry's attention and curiously evoked a rather deep frown but Piotr was too busy getting his point across to be analyze it '…I know you are far more patient than most people believe you to be, Severus, specially when you are so focused and inspired as you are now but I also know that you keep very high standards to those you see any kind of potential in.'

Not at all willing to let most of his thoughts show, even when there was no threat or reason to be suspicious, Snape took his time to respond. So much so, that Piotr was rather surprised that the Potions Master even saw fit to say anything at all.

'Ernest has proven himself more than worth of my patience, Piotr' the older professor informed with a carelessness that didn't completely hide the truthfulness of the praise '…for this very same reason I have relieved him from his duties for the weekend. As for his classes and homework, I have been working with Mr. Hamilton on a pace he himself set for his studies.'

Now it was Harry's time to study Snape meticulously and Piotr was impressed at the efficiency with which he did it. Potter had been known for his transparence not only on his thoughts, but most of all emotionally.

Ever since the final battled, after Harry woke up from his healing magical coma, he hadn't been his open, free self. Of course, everyone had been changed by the war – either by what they did, saw or what was done to them. Potter could easily fall in each category and even though he hadn't turned into a shadow of his younger self, Harry held things closer to his chest now.

He was still utterly pleasant, sincerely polite and more than merely uncomfortable with some people's adoration but Harry dealt with things and people rather differently. There was something more – Slytherin about him, Piotr realized a few years ago.

It wasn't something anyone else, anyone who wasn't a Slytherin, would notice and Antokolsky had taken years to pinpoint exactly what made his conversations with Harry so very familiar. It was as if he was back at his common room at Hogwarts and talking to one of his green-and-silver peers. Piotr had always been fascinated by the Gryffindor's natural ability of evoking people's complete trust and loyalty, even if that person was a Slytherin.

The only person who refused to acknowledge such changes was the very same person who watched Harry Potter like a hawk, with an intensity that bordered on religious adoration -- the very same person Harry had always suspected of in such an undue manner that it could be mistaken by blind obsession.

Still, Severus Snape completely ignored the hot inquiring emerald gaze that analyzed his every breath.

'Mr. Hamilton is very throughout and likes to make sure he has covered every single step of his lessons, at least twice', there was a hint of disapprove in Snape's tone but Piotr caught it and he was sure Harry had too 'I believe he dedicates the same amount of perfectionism to his extra homework and I doubt he'd allow any of his extracurricular activities to interfere in his scholar responsibilities.'

'I know, Severus, I know', Antokolsky conceded, knowing he had to push the buttons or he'd be led astray by the Potions Master's eloquence '…but I hope you do see Harry's reasoning as well?'

At his very mention, Potter cut in and halted both Snape – and his doubtlessly cutting and sarcastic remark – as well as Piotr -- and his attempt to keep the other Slytherin from making Harry bristle in anger again.

'It's not his extra classes and homework, it's the way he barely sleeps ...he's not eating much too', Harry shook his head in slight bewilderment 'He almost got hit by a hex because he lost his focus. When I got to him he was clearly suffering from nothing more than exhaustion …that's the second time this week that he has been hit or almost hit by serious and powerful hexes because he had spent most of the night working.' Here emerald eyes searched briefly for Snape's bottomless one before locking with the Headmaster's ice-blue gaze again 'I am really thankful to you Snape, for giving him this opportunity. It's everything he's needed... I just worry about him, that's all.'

'We know this, Harry', Piotr replied quickly to prevent Severus from berating Harry's honesty and to keep Potter from catching the sudden sincere astonishment in Snape's eyes '…but it wouldn't really have helped Ernest in the least if you two had gotten yourselves in the infirmary and he had missed both your classes and his extra Potions before the weekend, would it?'

'You're right. I am sorry …I really am.'

Severus was silent for a while, his eyes and features already schooled. Piotr couldn't help but marvel at how well he was able to read the smallest and most imperceptible signs from people – Antokolsky suspected it had something to do with his current position because he couldn't remember a time when he was able do it so well. It did make his job rather easier and Piotr used it as he could to help his friends and students -- all the while trying really hard not to meddle and only doing it when it was absolutely necessary.

Besides, Harry had already volunteered to hex him into oblivion if Piotr's eyes ever started to twinkle. It had been said only once, during a drunken stupor and Antokolsky doubted that the Gryffindor was kidding – Harry Potter never mentioned Albus Dumbledore, not even in passing.

'Mr. Hamilton and I have already talked about his agenda', Severus groaned the words as if he actually had to force himself to say them and Piotr was sure he had 'I supervised his new arrangements when it comes to his scholar duties all but two days ago. That being, I am sure that Mr. Hamilton wouldn't have agreed with my demands if he were not absolutely sure that he could meet the challenge head-on.'

Harry looked agog at the unmistakable compliment and Durmstrang's Headmaster had keep himself from smiling. When would those two realize that the one sat beside them wasn't a heartless prick or a stubborn child anymore?

What was certain was that it had only been one battle, the war was far from over and it was only a matter of time before the tension built up again but for the moment Antokolsky saw that little meeting as a well-earned victory.

'Good. I'm glad everything is settled.' Piotr replied, more than happy to end that extrenuous situation 'You may leave now; I do believe lunch is over and your students must be waiting for you at your classrooms.'

Piotr was aware of the fact that neither Severus nor Harry looked his way as they stood as one to leave. Holding back a Slytherin grin, Antokolsky watched as his professors marched simultaneously to the door, only to get in a somewhat hesitant dance around each other in their haste to leave.

That was the moment Piotr choose to conjure up two wands, while he pursed his lips into a thin line to keep laughter from bursting out of his mouth. The wands were unquestionably different and completely unmistakable: one clearly darker then the second, but both of the same size and thrumming as if anxious to be handed back to their owners.

'Oh, by the way' the young Headmaster said in a false airily tone and gestured theatrically at the wands on his desk'…your wands, gentlemen.'

Piotr was aware of the fact that both Severus and Harry didn't look at him as they turned around together to pick up their wands, before marching back to the door without any other inconvenience.

Chuckling to himself the Slytherin remembered that he hadn't asked who had started the quarrel, after all. _It seems_, Headmaster Antokolsky thought cunningly, _that the staff's wager is still running_.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

The lines: _"(...)You won't ever scratch the surface", "(...) Am I scratching your surface yet?"_ were more or less taken from the movie Basic and mainly because I think they're brilliant so I don't see why anyone would sue me because of them and even if they did, it'd be a waste of time because I have absolutely no money at all.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven**_

_Thursday, the 22__nd_

After the pathetic dressing down during lunchtime, all that Harry wanted was a quiet afternoon. It had been embarrassing to be caught at such a childish behavior by Piotr and as far as he was concerned, Harry would never live that down.

It had been years since Harry lost his temper like that, years since he had allowed anyone to goad him like that, and a long time since he had deliberately reached for his wand and fully intended to hex someone else into oblivion. It was all Snape's fault of course, but clearly he wasn't the only one to blame.

Ever since Harry had talked himself into calling Snape to take his position at Durmstrang, Harry knew that there wouldn't be a peaceful co-existence between them. He didn't hate Snape anymore, not really, but he sure as hell didn't like him. At all.

Still, Harry had promised himself that he'd deal with the other man's impossible personality like an adult. It wouldn't do to let old grudges get in the way of what Snape was supposed to do for Ernest and really, Harry had his own job to occupy his time and mind. It had always been enough before; he had never let anything jeopardize his professionalism.

It had been hard enough to deal with the press and the wizarding world's expectations when everything had been said and done after the war. Harry didn't mind that they had been whining and moaning on the Daily Prophet for months after he got out of St. Mungos, he hadn't cared one bit when they continued to try and invade his life, publishing any kind of rubbish just to have an excuse to put him on the front page. He had even ignored Rita Skeeter's whole series of columns where she questioned not only his sanity but also his morals for defending a former Death Eater, who happened to be Albus Dumbledore's killer, before the Wizengamot.

What really grated at him had been the divulging of stupidities such as the petition to ban Defense Against the Dark Arts from the scholar curriculum of every wizarding boarding school in the world and the insinuation that he hadn't chosen a "good enough" profession when he had decided to become a teacher. As if helping to build up the next generation's minds and prepare them to become better wizards and witches than his very generation had ever been wasn't worthy enough of the "Boy-Turned-Man-Who-Lived".

He had spoken his mind to anyone who would listen, and only raised his voice higher at those who wouldn't, trying to make them all understand that it wasn't by erasing a part of the history, a part of magic, that they would be able to erase every cruelty and death. Harry, more so than most, had the right to wish none of it had ever happened – and during those months of rehabilitation back at St. Mungos he had caught himself doing just that more times than not – but he, better than most, knew that it was foolish wish.

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much pain and sorrow it had brought them all, in the end Harry believed it was best to accept and learn so they wouldn't make anything else that could bring such catastrophe to their lives again. That had been one of the primordial reasons why he had opted to become a member of Durmstrang staff.

Sure, many thought he had only done it to irritate a few govern heads (and he had a little, yes) but his foremost motivation was to prevent that another Voldemort should rise. In the end, it wasn't that hard. Harry knew what it was to be ignored, underestimated, so much so that you had to convince yourself that you are special, that you are extraordinary in some way – any way – and that people just didn't get that.

He had lived most of his life back at the Dursleys doing that, taking pleasure on the fact that regardless of the fact that no one cared – and sometimes even berated him for it – he was a better student than Dudley had ever been. He was better at making a porridge than Aunt Petunia and that he could take care of the garden with such efficiency that always left Uncle Vernon muttering obscenities under his breath because there was nothing to be scowled at.

Of course, weird things happened with Harry back then already but he didn't really pay attention at that, at least not until he found out who he was and how very different he really was. Different, yes, but special, too. If Harry had been anyone other than who he was, perhaps he would have dealt with things differently, perhaps he would have acted on his anger and resentment when he had been able to but that just simply wasn't whom he was and there was no more dwelling on it.

But that didn't change the fact that Harry could understand. Many of his students at Durmstrang came from Death Eater families, families that valued the pureness of blood; families that taught their spawn dark spells before they could even have a wand—families that had been ripped apart by the war and ostracized when Voldemort finally fell.

Harry didn't agree with them, he didn't like their beliefs but he also couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that their suffering should be belittled just because they were on the wrong side of the war. Harry had long outgrown his childhood single-mindedness and prejudices, it was impossible not to. He had seen brothers fighting side by side and protecting each other, he had seen parents giving their lives for their children, sons and daughters sacrificing themselves for their families, friends and even unprotected strangers and he had seen those things from both sides.

He was an optimistic, Blaise had mocked him for it many times before but Harry couldn't really feel offended by it. Not when Zabini himself was living proof that what mattered wasn't your surname, the house you had been sorted into or the rubbish you had been conditioned to spout from an early age. What really counted was you did, in those milliseconds when you had to choose between hesitation and action, when you could turn your back on someone or save them.

If Harry had learned anything in his young life, it had been that everyone holds equal portions of good and evil in themselves and that no one was beyond redemption. Most of the time the difference between the rise of a hero or that of a murder was someone willing to give them a hand when they needed the most. Obviously, with some a firm hand worked better than anything else and others unfortunately were too blind to even acknowledge that they were losing themselves but even those Harry was set on helping.

It was definitely his "saving people thing" that made him think that way but he didn't mind. If he could guide one of his students and inspire this one young mind to aspire to be the best wizard or witch, the best man or woman they could be – well, then Harry counted himself a winner.

It was because of this, because of his need to be a good model to his students that Harry was so very pissed off at himself that afternoon. He made everything he could to disabuse the children and adolescents he taught of the notion that he was bloody perfect because Harry didn't want the "Savior Syndrome" to be perpetuated inside Durmstrang's walls and after the first couple of years he had succeeded.

Harry Potter was gaped at by the first-years but the older students now were quick to tell them to knock it off because he was just like any other professor. Do something right and he'll acknowledge, mess up and he'll call you on it, show that you're working hard and he'll award you with house points, challenge him in any way and he'll take them and if you really step out of line then that'd be detention for you.

At first Harry had thought it'd be impossible, he almost quitted during the first two years, but then he learned to make the students see him as a person and not as a symbol and with that he had got their respect. Piotr had been of great help in that regard and Blaise had taught him that just because he had been in Gryffindor that didn't mean he had to ignore his Slytherin side completely.

So after so much trouble and work, to put it all on the line because he couldn't hold his wits together around Severus Bloody Snape was daunting – to say the very least. As Harry surveyed the group of fifth-years as they dulled about the class, he couldn't help but groan inwardly. He had lost it; there was no other word for it.

The worst of all was that he had done it for absolutely nothing. At the time, order Snape to lay down on his outrageous academic demands had sounded unquestionably right and if Snape had indeed stuck to his intransigent self than Harry would have had nothing to be ashamed of. The deal was though, that as usual Snape couldn't just do what was expected of him.

Harry just couldn't understand the man. At one moment Snape was his usual unpleasant git self, abusing his authority and forcing an impracticable agenda onto a 15 years old with more than his share of responsibilities. Moments later the older Slytherin was the considerate professor who actually had to take a peg or two of an overindulgent pupil who was more concerned on not disappointing his professor than taking care of himself.

It wasn't just that even, but the irrefutable fact that Harry had found out that Snape actually did see all of Ernest's potential. When Hamilton had told Harry that Snape had offered the young man an apprenticeship, Harry had been worried that Snape had only been doing it so he could inconspicuously work on Ernest's potion, which was good at on hand but just very horrible on another. If Ernest ever found out that he hadn't been chosen for his talents, it'd have destroyed him.

But hell! Snape had even willingly complimented Ernest and Harry was sure he had never heard the man praise anyone at all. Not even Malfoy was bestowed such a dubious honor very often and when he was Harry had a feeling that Snape did it more to annoy him and his friends than anything else. It wasn't like Harry didn't think Snape had thought Malfoy worth of praise, Snape being who he was probably thought it so – though Harry couldn't figure out why – still, Severus Snape wasn't the type who acknowledged people's effort. He was one to keep on criticizing everything and pushing everyone to their limits—it made one hate his guts but it was helpful at times.

Not that Harry was ever likely to admit that to his former professor.

But in the end that was what that situation was about, wasn't it? The fact that Harry had been a utter jerk and had plunge headlong into a fight instead of trying to rationalize his point of view with Snape. Sure, the man had done everything to piss Harry off completely but that was no excuse.

And most certainly not the best way to prove Snape that Harry was a grown-up now. Shaking his head slightly and trying to push back all those useless feelings of inadequacies that the other wizard was so very good at bringing out of him, Harry tried to focus on his class again.

Young Miss Durova had just sent Hugo Halo to the floor with a rather swift but well aimed Stupefy. Harry corrected the girl's stance slightly, telling her to keep her guard even as she went to strike her opponent, when a prickle of magical awareness made the airs in the back of his neck stand on end.

After releasing Halo from the hex that had been thrown at him, Harry checked his students, trying to pinpoint the source of sudden hostile magic that made his instincts kick in. It didn't take him much longer than a glance and Harry felt like kicking himself.

Normally in practical classes, the ones based on dueling, Harry would deliberately pair students who had any kind of tension between them. It again had been one of Blaise's cleverest but most questionable ideas. If the whole mirror practicing wasn't enough, Zabini had fought tooth and nail to be able to get his students the chance of really putting their spells into action.

At first Piotr had refused adamantly, saying that even if the students had indeed learned about the damage their magic could cause that didn't mean it would stop their hands when it came to casting jinks and hexes on other people. Blaise's argument had been one that Harry had never expected. According to the black Slytherin, every adolescent was bound to relish some of their aggression and pent-up energy on attacks at fellow house and schoolmates.

It was a rather obvious thing to be said but until then no one had proposed a good-enough counteraction to such a thing. Blaise then had claimed that if they got them into duels, always under supervision clearly, then the children would be able to waste some of that hostility in a healthy way. If they dueled with other people with whom they had any kind of disagreement or strained relation with, then they'd be able to put their backs into it and try anything out of class would be a moot point.

Harry had thought it mental at first, thinking that such activity would only spur the students on and give them ideas. Blaise then countered that if Harry and Malfoy had been allowed to work on their rivalry back at school, at close range of an adult who could keep them from killing each other, and then they would have dealt better with all that ever-growing amount testosterone. Harry didn't quite believe it, he was almost sure he'd never have been pals with Malfoy no matter how many times a week he was allowed to hex the little white ferret's arse.

"You might be right," Blaise had offered one of his most winning smiles, "…but you can't say you wouldn't stop antagonizing him every single seconds. After all, you'd know that all you had to do was wait for the next duel lesson." Which was, as Zabini's cunning insights generally were, quite right.

That was why, ever since their first year, Ernest Hamilton and Octavian Masson were always paired for their dueling classes. Harry had never truly understood why those two had so much enmity going on between then, Ernest had never gone into details on the subject and Masson wasn't likely to ever broach the topic with Harry.

The redhead didn't quite renounced Harry as a teacher but he surely had never looked up at him in any way. The Gryffindor had never really bothered much about the occasional snipping and bickering, though he never allowed things to go far.

As it happened, he knew that Ernest and Octavian were even more at odds the past few days thanks to that coward attempt of sabotage the first week of class. Dueling classes were probably the only ones where Harry saw some kind of fire in Ernest. It wasn't the same passionate concentration that the boy devoted to every single potion he brewed, it was something else, something more alive and much less intellectual.

Sometimes, Harry could swear he saw Hamilton smirking freely and he was sure that he could even catch a glimpse of yellow lurking in over the young man's hazel eyes. Those were moments when Ernest reminded Harry irrevocably of Remus Lupin. He had seen his former professor in battle before, he had seen a few cracks on that placid and polite demeanor of Lupin's many times in the past – Harry had seen the wolf and the man, so he had learned to pick on the nuances.

Ernest put up with Masson's taunts and bulling, ignored the other young man with a slightly forced determination but whenever they dueled – well, Harry had to give it to Blaise Zabini. It had been a very good idea. Harry was sure that if Ernest didn't have those classes to look up to – and Ernest always won those duels – then Hamilton would have been baited by Octavian almost daily.

Even though, Harry always made a point of keeping his eyes on those two. Octavian was known for his ruthlessness and harshness, even if he barely ever hexed any of his schoolmates. Taunts were more Masson's style, a trait that inevitably always made Harry think back on Draco Malfoy when he caught the redhead in the act. Of course, Octavian Masson wasn't as good at hitting the mark as Malfoy had been and usually Masson was caught – something that Malfoy had known rather expertly how to avoid most of the times – but still, there was something on that spoiled-brat airs that Octavian put on that wasn't all that unfamiliar for Harry.

If Harry had began to teach any earlier than he had, or perhaps if he hadn't been through all the things he had been through, then perhaps he would have let this faint resemblance of attitude affect him but it really didn't. If anything, Harry always made sure to chaperone Masson's detentions himself, especially now that Blaise wasn't there anymore. Octavian had been closer to Zabini than he had ever been to any other Durmstrang teacher, not that that meant much but it had been something, and now that Blaise was gone Masson was perhaps even more guideless than before.

Harry knew it'd be trail to get past at least some of the boy's barriers, he never ambitioned to get past them all – he even doubted it was really possible and that was another thing the boy had in common with Malfoy, he gathered – but if he could get the redhead to listen to him at least, it'd be enough. Harry had never liked Draco Malfoy but he knew now that the blonde hadn't had the easiest adolescence, despite all the money his parents had. Actually, Harry had long ago realized that when push come to shove, Malfoy's school years hadn't been much better than Harry's.

What he wanted to avoid now, was that Octavian Masson made crucial and irreparable mistakes just like Malfoy had at that same age, just because he didn't have anyone to talk to. Or because everyone made sure not listen to Octavian before ever giving him the chance to say anything. The truth was that Harry Potter had never got out of his head the fact that in the end; the only one to ever really listen to Draco Malfoy had been a simpering neurotic ghost.

But not even these thoughts were enough to quench the sudden dread that coursed through Harry's whole body. By the time he reached the spot where Ernest and Octavian were dueling, most of the other fifth years around them had already backed away. The tense shoulders, the straight strained muscles and the perfect stances told Harry everything he had to know but if those weren't enough, the hard and determined expressions on the boys' faces said it all.

Too busy wasting his time berating himself for acting like a fool before Snape, Harry had done the crass error of letting his attention wander from the potential danger of putting those two young men face to face with their wands drawn. It was definitely a fault Harry Potter would never make again and also one he would never forget.

There were several small injures over the boys' hands and cheeks, they both had their hairs mated to the back of their heads and panted audibly as they circled each other like panthers waiting for one opening – any lowering of guard so they could strike. Ernest and Octavian were glistening with sweat, their shirts had been pulled, or had ridden themselves up, from the confines of their trousers and the 15 years olds had rid themselves from their ties. Octavian had pushed up both his shirt and sweater's sleeves to his elbows, and although Ernest hadn't bothered to do the same his forearms were as dirty as his housemate's. Not only those but also the two boys backs and knees were clearly filthy and Harry knew it was so because they had been dodging each other's attacks repeatedly ever since Harry had told his students to take off their robes before beginning their dueling.

From what Harry could tell, Ernest and Octavian hadn't hit each other with anything so far. Remarkable if you think that the class was almost over and they had been dancing around each other for over an hour but that was the way those two did things. Hamilton had been the undisputed winner of each duel but that didn't mean Masson went down without a fight. In fact, from what Harry had seen, the only reason why the redhead ever got hit first was because Ernest's reflexes were much faster and because Octavian's attention would stray at some point. It made sense that it was so, it was part of Ernest's curse, given proper motivation he could be as single-minded as a bloody hound and Masson, like any other adolescent, couldn't concentrate hard for long periods of time.

But Octavian never gave up and each time they dueled, the redhead's focus span grew. In that moment, they only had eyes for each other, hazel locked to blue and nothing else. It was rather impressive actually, to see such young wizards holding themselves in an ancient stance, studying each other with efficiency that most didn't have. Harry could feel their magic pulsing, clashing with each other every other second and he knew the other students could feel it too, even if they didn't quite know what it was.

Despite it all, Harry prepared himself to step in. There was something off with that scene. What bothered him the most was that he had seen those two dueling before, Blaise had invited him to watch it, on the pretense to have Harry assisting him, many times before. He couldn't pinpoint what it was but he didn't like it in the least. There was something that wasn't quite right. Harry looked from one boy to the other, trying to gauge their expressions and trying to understand what was making him so anxious.

It was instinct, an indefinable feeling that urged him to watch, to wait and be prepared. Harry had had his life saved by his instinct many times to learn that he was always better off when he listened to it so he kept himself at the ready – he didn't know what for but he did it anyway.

Before he ever really formed the thought, Harry knew what was going to happen. It wasn't something he had ever been able to verbalize; it was a feeling that only someone engaged in a battle of wits like that would understand. A change in the air, an almost inaudible warning sound, a movement in the corner of his eyes – Harry didn't know but seconds before Ernest moved, he knew that the waiting had ended once again and that Octavian must had showed a weakness, no matter how small, because Hamilton was ready to plunge right into it.

'_Furnunculus_!' the blonde hissed levelly, Ernest never had raised his voice much – not even in stressful circumstances such as that one. It hardly mattered; magic was intention and nothing else. One wasn't likely to cast a stronger spell just because he shouted the incantation.

Hamilton's movements were swift, almost too swift for Harry to keep track of the wand movement, but Octavian knew his opponent very well and his will was almost as quick as Ernest's reflexes.

Masson came from a pureblood old family, he had been thought dueling techniques. His movements were aerials and misleading, he knew how to trick his opponent. It was an innate talent, Octavian was quite the proficient wizard, and the thing was that he put all that proficiency into the wrong outlets.

Skiving quickly out of Ernest's range Masson missed the hex thrown his way by inches and soon had regained his balance without dropping his guard.

'_Petrificus Totalus_!' he growled as response without missing a bit.

Ernest was ready and didn't move as he deflected the hex with a shielding charm, his eyes narrowing and his body swaying almost imperceptively with the force of Octavian's magic. Hamilton's technique was less refined and elegant, his movement more forceful but fast and sure. He had something that Masson lacked severely: patience, and just like the wolf he turned into every full moon, Ernest could be quite dangerous even if subtlety wasn't one of his characteristics in a duel.

That was trait that Harry had seen before. Ron was the same.

'_Tarentellegra_!'

That one almost got Octavian square on the chest but the boy was able to cast a good enough Protego and kept himself on his feet, even if he had been forced to take a step back. Keeping his wand trained on Ernest, the redhead ground his teeth and sneered, clearly put out.

Again, Harry's instincts kicked in and he realized without doubt that he had to put an end to things. It wasn't that he thought Masson couldn't hold his own against Ernest but quite the contrary. Harry had the sudden epiphany that if he didn't do something soon; things would get out of hand.

Stepping forward, disturbing the aura the boys' clashing magic had formed around them, he raised his voice and used his most authoritative tone. It was usually necessary because once those two engaged themselves; they were lost to the world.

'That's enough!' he called, trying to push himself further closer to the boys and against their magic.

That was when Harry realized that something was really wrong. Unlike any other time, he wasn't able to break through the bubble of magic surrounding Octavian and Ernest. In fact, the more he tried, the more it resisted. If that had been all, Harry wouldn't have felt that spike of worry course through his body, for he knew that if he wanted he could disrupt it easily.

No, it wasn't that. The thing was that the magic holding that aura together wasn't a battle for dominance between Hamilton and Masson's magic. It was warped, cruder, harsher and darker, something that could actually put up some kind of resistance against Harry at all. Alarmed, Harry only had Scarlet Durova's gasp as warning before he stepped back and away, escaping the range of Octavian's spell at the last second.

'_Lumos Solarem_!' Masson had roared as he regained his former footage and even shrank the distance between himself and Ernest.

When Harry quickly shielded his face from the blaze of light that had sprung from his student's wand he caught the slight widening of Ernest's eyes. Clearly the blonde hadn't been expecting his rival to cast a charm against him instead of the jinxes and hexes that Octavian so favored.

'_Reciproca_!' Ernest spat but his reaction had come after a slight delay.

As Masson hurried to dodge his own spell, Harry saw that Ernest was blinking repeatedly, his eyes closing tightly and then being pried open wide. The blonde had managed to keep himself in his fighting position but he had been affected all the same.

If there was one weakness that Ernest had and that could be easily used against him in combat was his photophobia. It wasn't something many people knew about him, Remus had found out by accident when he and Tonks had taken Ernest and Michael to the beach once. They had been enjoying themselves there for no more than half an hour when the youngest boy started to complain about headaches.

At first, they had all believed that it had something to do with dehydration or even hunger but even after eating the sandwiches Tonks had prepared and drinking as much water as he could, Ernest's migraine only worsened. It was so serious that the boy had actually cried of pain, which broke Remus' heart to no end. Only after taking Ernest straight to St. Mungos, and after a mediwitch had made the necessary scans, had they learned how very sensitive Hamilton's eyes were to light.

Remus had told Harry about it so he could relay the same to Madam Inas. Ernest sometimes suffered with his photophobia during winter mornings when he and the other students over 13 were taken to visit the nearby village during term. The reflection of the pale sun on the endless amount of snow often was enough to trigger rather fierce headaches. It was one of the reasons Ernest was so very good at Headache Draughts ever since he was 11 – he always kept a vial close to hand.

Harry doubted that Octavian knew any of this but he really couldn't care about it at the moment. Not when he suddenly understood whose was that hostile magic that had kept him away from the boys and why it was doing it in the first place.

'I said that's enough!' he demanded, awakening his own magic core as he again walked straight into the aura before him. Harry's breath caught when even then he couldn't trespass it. Frantic he looked over at Octavian who was casting another hex at Ernest, oblivious to the way his housemate's eyes changed visibly, '_OCTAVIAN! ERNEST! STOP NOW_!'

It was no use for they couldn't hear him. They were too focused on each other, deaf and blind to the world around them. For some reason Harry remembered the way he had acted earlier that day at Snape's classroom. If Piotr hadn't jolted them both from their anger before any spell had actually been cast, Harry was sure that no one would have been able to stop them.

There would be no interruption, no hesitation; they would only stop when one was clearly the winner and the other the undeniable loser.

It was the same here, he could tell. The same but for one detail, Octavian Masson wouldn't stand a chance. Not because Ernest was too far-gone to hold back his hand but because Octavian wasn't dueling Ernest Hamilton anymore.

Those gentle, thoughtful hazel eyes that had been studying the redhead's every move were no more. Harry felt his breath hitch when he saw calculating, cold yellow eyes watching Masson with an intensity that couldn't be mistaken with anything else but hunger. Harry had to end that duel, he had to do something before it was too late.

With one imperceptible move that had been perfected by necessity, Harry had him wand in his hand, waving it as he would a sword as he silently cast spell after spell against the barrier between him and his students. Intent as he was on breaking that foul aura, Harry never for once lost track from the duel before him. His other students had cowered themselves as far away from Octavian and Ernest as possible but Harry knew that he had to be ready to cast any protection charm in case one of Masson or Hamilton's spells strayed once Harry had dealt with that aura.

In no time Harry felt it giving him way, unable to hold its own against his direct attack but even though Harry couldn't seem to be able to do it fast enough. As soon as the barrier began to be disrupted he caught sight of a brusque movement coming from Ernest.

Before the boy had indeed uttered the spell, Harry already knew what it was and that Octavian had no chance of protecting himself.

'_Diffindo_!'

All the other students gasped when an invisible blade slashed viciously Masson's face, chest and thighs. With his heart thudding with concern and horror, Harry watched as Octavian looked down at his mutilated body, his blood flooding wickedly from the deep gashes so fast that in milliseconds most of his skin and clothes were drenched with the crimson fluid.

Working faster than he had in many years, Harry put all his power into crushing down the remains of the aura. He had dispelled it almost completely when he caught movement in the corner of his left eye, looking in that direction Harry was horrified at what he saw.

His nostrils flaring unnaturally, his lips stretched back in a positively feral smirk, his eyes shinning with what could only be defined as animalistic cruelty, Ernest Hamilton was finding his way to his opponent. There was such a perverse deliberateness in his movement, so much maliciousness in his smirk that Ernest looked like someone else entirely. He looked like a hunter who knew he had injured his prey almost mortally and that knew he had the upper hand.

Ernest looked every bit as deranged and inhuman as Fenhir Greyback.

Scared witless but dominated by his legendary Gryffindor courage, Harry rushed to Ernest's side, without a plan but determined to keep his student from doing something that the boy would forever regret.

Harry didn't have the time to talk to Ernest, to try and bring him back from wherever he had hid himself in his mind. Harry merely had the time to really reach the blonde before Hamilton was thrown several steps back onto the wall. Stunned, Harry spun around and found Octavian leaning heavily against the opposite wall, panting and pale as a paper but with his wand steadily pointing at Ernest.

But that wasn't what had caught Harry's sight or what surprised him. What had him dashing towards Octavian was the pool of blood at the boy's feet. He had to stop the bleeding before Masson got into an anaphylactic shock.

Harry was so worried by the weakened state of his student that it was with an utter feeling of stumped helplessness that he heard the unforgivable word that left the redhead's mouth.

'_Crucio_!'

The stunned silence lasted only nanoseconds but for Harry they were simultaneously interminable and managed to pass much faster than they should. Almost at the same time he heard a guttural, terrible noise so loud that it almost deafened him. Turning with all the swiftness that his Seeker reflexes gave him Harry saw the twisting, writhing and screaming mass of flailing limbs that was Ernest.

'_Expeliarmus_!' he shouted finally, hitting Octavian as he pointed his wand at his student. That seemed to be all there was left of fight in his student because almost instantly the boy was unconscious but Harry didn't see that, as soon as he had Masson's wand flying out of the redhead's hand, Harry focused his magic and waved an arc so grand that encompassed the two boys.

'_Finite Incantentum_!' he demanded and at once Octavian's cuts stopped widening over his body and Ernest ceased to scream.

Rushing at Masson and waving his wand frantically over the boy's body he tried to close the ugly slashes over the young man's chest, trying not to look at the waxy pallor of the boy's skin.

'Don't stand there!' he yelled at the shocked fifth year students who stared open-mouthed at the debacle before then, 'One of you go find Madam Inas!'

* * *

'I do believe I have already told you to leave, Mr. Halo and Miss Durova', Madam Inas scowled without much feeling as she rushed from one bed to the other, 'The same should be said about you, Professor.'

Harry didn't say anything at that, dropping one more bottle of Blood Replenishing potion down Octavian Masson's throat as the mediwitch made Ernest Hamilton's unconscious body swallow a nerve-releasing potion. He hadn't even noticed Hugo and Scarlet standing at the infirmary's entrance before that.

'But we can't—' Hugo began to sputter, obviously not having a clue of what he was even going to say.

'How is –', Scarlet interrupted herself as her eyes drifted towards Madam Inas and Ernest's bed and then continued as she wriggled her hands together, '…_are_ they, ma'am?'

'Hugo...Scarlet', Harry looked up from his task long enough to catch the others' eyes, 'Go.'

That order had the anticipated effect.

'But, sir!' Halo interjected uselessly.

'I will give you report on their condition and I am sure Madam Inas will allow you to see your friends when they are fit', Harry continued as if he hadn't been interrupted and went back to helping Octavian take the much needed potion. 'Now go.'

Instead of leaving, Hugo spun around and towered Scarlet. The young woman was at least a foot shorter than Halo but she didn't even flinch when the boy snarled at her.

'What are you doing here, anyway?'

Harry caught a hint of color stain the brunette's ivory cheeks but she only crossed her arms over her chest and announced sternly, 'It's none of your business, Hugo.'

'Watch it, blood-traitor.' Halo unwittingly barked.

The words had barely left his lips before Madam Inas' wrath made her forget what she was doing enough to fully face the stupid boy.

'I will not tolerate this behavior in my infirmary!'

Harry had had enough. He didn't even see the way both Hugo and Scarlet shrank away from him, Madam Inas flinched little as he shouted.

'Don't make me give you two detentions and deduct house points!' he roared, 'I have already told you to leave!'

The students stared at him for a few seconds and then snapped themselves from their stunned state. As fast as their legs would let them, the two scrambled out of the infirmary without even looking back. Harry was still breathing heavily when he heard the mediwitch's soft clearing of throat.

'That was very...effective...Professor', she started cautiously before frowning lightly, '...but I'd appreciate if you refrained from yelling here.'

'Yes, of course… I am sorry,' Harry couldn't help but flush slightly as he looked down and continued to feed Masson his medicine. When he was done Harry finally allowed himself to ask the question that was burning in his throat ever since he had helped Ingrid bring the boys to the infirmary, 'How are they, Ingrid?'

A while later, Ingrid Inas pulled herself from over Ernest's limbering figure and sighed deeply. She shook her head as she usually did when a student got hurt doing something particularly reckless. Harry knew she'd make sure Octavian and Ernest got an earful as soon as they were good enough to hear it.

'Mr. Masson is coming along,' she gestured to the redhead's general direction. Harry wondered if she realized that her fingers made the exact Z motion that Hamilton's spell had, 'You were quick to end the spell, and I gave him a restoring draught and you the blood-replenishing potion…he'll be fine in the morning.'

Harry let go a relieved breath he didn't know he had been holding. Even as he looked, he noticed the way Octavian's skin ceased to have that sick colorless and lifeless appearance. The boy's chest seemed to move up and down in a more steady way.

'What about Ernest?' he questioned as he turned his gaze to the other boy's bed. Hamilton wasn't with that mask of maddening pain marring his features anymore but his breathing was still too deep and shallow. His arms and legs were stretched on the bed but they looked strung out and stiff.

'Mr. Hamilton', Ingrid sighed deeply again and this time there was more than a hint of compassion in her voice as she kept on, '... unfortunately his already debilitated condition left him susceptible to any kind of injury. I gave him a Strengthening Potion but-'

'…It won't work sufficiently, will it?'

Stupid question, he already knew the answer after all. Surprisingly, Ingrid didn't even think of berating him for pointing out the obvious. With far more care than anyone had ever believed of her, the mediwitch pushed Ernest's curls out of his face.

'No', she sounded weary and resigned, '…not this close to the full moon, no.'

Harry groaned, covering his face with both hands as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He should have done something but like a complete idiot he hadn't acted fast enough.

For Merlin's sake! In less than one month two of his strongest students were bedridden because of an accident he should have been able to prevent! If that wasn't enough, one had consciously warped a domestic spell and the other had cast a bloody Unforgivable!

Harry gagged then when he smelled the heavy metallic scent of Octavian's blood so very close to his nose. When he looked down at his hands Harry felt his stomach churning at the crimson stains on them and he was suddenly aware that he was covered in that substance. He had knelled at the pool of blood that had been growing around the boy and had been the one to take Masson in his arms and carry him to Ingrid's infirmary.

'They are both strong young men', a calm if subdued voice pulled Harry from the way he morbidly stared at his filthy hands, '…two of our finest, I am sure they will recover in no time.'

'Piotr.'

Again, a stupid statement for the young Headmaster was standing right at the same spot young Mr. Halo and Miss Durova had been only minutes before. If nothing else, Antokolsky's seemingly unreadable set expression, as he questioned Madam Inas about Octavian and Ernest's health so he could report their condition to their parent and guardians, only made Harry feel worse.

It was with no surprise that he took his friend's next words, when clear blue eyes bored into his seriously.

'Harry' Piotr stated more than anything, his voice taking a slight hard inflection that he had rarely ever used with the green-eyed wizard, 'I would like to have a minute with you.'

'That's exactly the kind of behavior I've been trying to prevent.'

Harry winced slightly even though Piotr's tone was as weary and resigned as Ingrid's had been. He knew what his friend was talking about. It was only because of Harry and Blaise's insistence that Antokolsky had allowed the dueling classes to be instituted at Durmstrang and both teachers had taken fully responsibility for any accidents that could occur.

When Blaise left, Harry had given his word that he would be able to handle those classes on his own. But he hadn't, instead he had done a second imbecilic mistake that day and hadn't paid enough attention, hadn't acted quickly enough and had failed completely.

'I know', was all he could say to that. Harry felt like a naughty first year, sitting before the Headmaster. The worse of it all was that this time around he couldn't even blame Snape. Not really, anyway.

* * *

'Do you understand the kind of position this incident puts me in?'

'Yes.'

'Harry', Piotr took a deep breath the belied all his confusion and frustration, 'I need you to talk to me.'

'I am sorry, Piotr', he breathed out and then forced himself to look up at his friend. Harry had been staring down at his still dirty hands and even now his eyes couldn't seem to do anything else but go back to them again, 'It got out of control – out of _MY_ control. I-I can't understand.'

Harry heard the helplessness in his own voice but there was nothing he could do about it.

'Octavian gave me problems before, with Ernest even ...but he never even dared to do something like this before. The boy is ruthless and reckless but he's not', Harry groaned softly as he rubbed his hangs together, '...he's not the type that would resolve his scholar rivalries with an Unforgivable. I can't understand.'

Piotr nodded as he leaned back from his chair, propping his elbows on his desk and covering his mouth with his entwined fingers. He stared at Harry for a while but the professor wasn't able to hold his gaze for long.

'I know Octavian Masson very well, Harry', he started, pulling his hands away from his lips, 'I know him; I knew his brother and cousin. I know his whole family. He's exactly as you described him; ruthless _AND_ reckless and has quite the ego and temper to him', Antokolsky shook his head slightly bewildered, 'He managed to cast a very effective _Cruciatus_ even as he apparently bled to death.'

Hearing the unmistakable hint of dreamy admiration in the Headmaster's tone, Harry's head snapped up so he could see his friend's expression. Piotr though wasn't looking at him, his words were highly speculative as he continued, 'Highly impressive...his strength of will.'

Chuckling only because he was more shocked by that turn of events than actually amusement, Harry couldn't help but also frown at his friend in disbelief.

'Bloody Slytherin' he grunted under his breath and earned a fleeting twitch of lips, the closest of a smile Antokolsky could bring himself to before he grew serious again.

'I'm not saying he did right, or that he won't be punished.'

'I know', Harry smiled a rather small smile that had no feeling in it and that looked more like a grimace but he tried to sound teasing, 'It just felt like the most accurate thing to say.'

Piotr nodded in acknowledgement, 'But like I was saying...we had, have and probably will still have problems with Mr. Masson's explosive personality but we never dared to believe otherwise', the Headmaster paused significantly before continuing, 'Who I am truly concerned about, though, is Ernest.'

Harry's frown deepened and he felt a wave of dread numb him for a while.

'Madam Inas said he'll be fine, only because the full moon it'll—'

Piotr nodded and held up a hand, making Harry quiet instantly. He respected Antokolsky deeply; Harry knew what his friend went through as Durmstrang's Headmaster. Many had doubted him for many reasons, his age, his lack of lengthy experience as a teacher, the fact that he had been a Durmstrang student himself once or the fact that, even if only for one year, he had been a Slytherin.

But there was no doubt in Harry's mind that there was no one better to do that job and that was why he hadn't only offered Piotr his services as a professor but also his friendship and admiration.

'I'm not talking about his health, Harry', Antokolsky replied knowing Harry enough to see that he was afraid that maybe Ingrid hadn't told him the whole truth about Ernest's situation, 'We both knew that Mr. Hamilton is more than strong enough to simply deal with his current condition. We both know that he's been through worse…what I am worried about is his emotional state.'

'What do you mean?'

'Ernest Hamilton is our most interested and dedicated student, always has been. He's obedient, calm and centered, at least he has been until a few months ago'. At that point the Headmaster locked his blue eyes with Harry's, 'I am sure you have noticed that Mr. Hamilton seems quitter, more secretive and in ways... more sullen than he had ever been before.'

'We're in a school known for teaching and accepting wizards who have inclinations or a natural talent for Dark Arts', Harry shrugged half-heartily, knowing that there was a point to Piotr's musings, 'I can surely say that said wizards aren't know for their ebullient character.'

'I can't argue you with that and I am not', Antokolsky nodded in agreement, '…but Ernest has always been severely introspective, but we have never expected or suspected him to be any different. Still, he is now a 15 years old lad.'

'What do you mean?' Harry couldn't help but ask again. Piotr had a way to make him feel like a rather stubborn second year, the same way Hermione always made him feel when she thought he was being particularly thick.

'It means' Piotr ignored Harry's snap with his usual grace, '...that he's no longer controllable, gullible or easily approached.'

'You make him sound like—' A pet, a thing, a tool, a pawn. Harry knew what that feeling was like and everyone who knew him, was aware of how much he loathed something like that. Piotr being his friend was disappointed enough at Harry's response to interrupt him crudely, hardening his voice as he went on.

'And you know that's not what I mean', Antokolsky only continued after Harry looked sufficiently sheepish about his outburst, 'Harry, he's an adolescent. He's highly skeptical and realistic, he grew up with Remus Lupin, not only aware but a witness of the unfairness in the situations his guardian went through.'

'But he's got Snape now', Harry countered, frowning because even as he said it he didn't really like the thought, '…Ernest knows he's got an option.'

'Severus offered him an opportunity he wouldn't be able to have otherwise and we – you, me, Mr. Hamilton and Severus -- know this very well,' Piotr paused as if bracing himself and Harry didn't understand what it as until his friend spoke again, 'But you say he knows he's got an option. No, Harry, Ernest doesn't.'

The green-eyed professor bristle at that, 'But of-'

'He knows he's got only one option', again Antokolsky interrupted him firmly but calmly, '…and unfortunately he's not wrong – please, let me finish. We both know that despite everything we have already accomplished there's much to be achieved. There are certain kinds of intolerance that have been etched in generations' subconscious, like a non-stop requiem of hatred.'

'I understand what you're saying.'

'You do?'

'Yes', Harry groaned slightly because he really did, '...Ernest is desperate. He sees Snape as his last hope of having a job—a future.'

'Dignity', Piotr nodded, '…yes, but still, Harry, he is a teenager. There's a difference between looking into the future, knowing that things will be difficult, and knowing that no matter how hard you work, the prospect won't really change – things won't really get much better.' Antokolsky took a deep breath, as if he was trying to organize his thoughts. 'Look at Lupin himself; intelligent, talented, competent and brilliant but he never had a steady job since he became of age. After years, he probably learned not to take offense. Or he just has in himself not to take it personally, or at least to forgive and forget – and in ways, submitting to it.'

'You're saying that... Ernest thinks Remus a coward?'

'No, quite the opposite really…I'm almost sure Mr. Hamilton admires Mr. Lupin deeply for he's able to get on with his life, despite of the obstacles.' The young Headmaster looked over at Harry, his tone thoughtful, 'From what you and Mr. Hamilton tell me, Remus Lupin is able to do it all with his head raised and no grudge and hard feelings in his heart.'

Even as he said it, Harry could hear the note of incomprehension and confusing in his friend's voice. Not many people could understand Remus' ability to forgive and Harry himself had caught himself wishing to be like the other Gryffindor with ever fiber of his of his being and not being really able to be so. Remus Lupin was one of a kind and anyone who was half-decent wished to be more like him.

'There's no thirst for revenge, no useless anger and no complete surrender', Piotr shook his head lightly, the only obvious sign of bewilderment that he allowed himself, 'Mr. Lupin doesn't charge head on, consequences be damned, but he also doesn't give up.'

'He doesn't.' Harry felt a small smile play with his lips and pride swell his heart.

'And I'm sure Ernest Hamilton aspires to be like him.'

Harry nodded in agreement and sighed heavily. He shouldn't have overlooked things this way, he shouldn't have let things get so out of hand.

'But he's not.' Harry concluded what he should have noticed a long time ago.

'No, he is not. I believe everything he's been through has molded his personality already', Piotr said as if he was talking more to himself than to Harry, 'Mr. Hamilton had been a kind, polite and sullen as a child and probably will be the same as a grown man but he isn't willing to forget or forgive lightly.' Antokolsky grinned half-heartily as he locked eyes with the Dark Arts professor, '…you remember his age, Harry. We were anything but reasonable; we were fierce and tempestuous. Ernest Hamilton is just the same; the problem is that he takes his urge to scream, hurt, his pain, and adrenaline – the emotional roller coaster that makes his an adolescent – and stoppers them all forcefully, tightly in the depths of his mind.'

'You think that he's...snapping?'

Piotr took his time before he began to address his answer. The calculating look in his blue eyes made Harry pay even more attention into what the Headmaster had to say.

'I was talking to Severus and he's been concerned about Mr. Hamilton for some while now. He claims that the boy is lonely more times than not, and that Ernest also has developed the habit of hyperventilating under pressure and--cause himself pain when overcome with emotion.' Before Harry could interrupt, Piotr was quick in reassuring him, '…according to Severus Mr. Hamilton merely digs his fingernails in the palms of his hand, or clenches his jaw visibly.'

'Do you think he's harming himself?'

Even that prospect wasn't enough to dampen the surge of concern that Harry felt. As if those images were just waiting a push to form themselves in his mind, he saw Ernest's fits tightening so much that his knuckles were white while he ignored Octavian's taunts during a theory Potions class, or the tension of Hamilton's jaw when he didn't get a particular wand movement right in Dark Arts' lessons.

Why hadn't he seen those things before? Why hadn't he given them enough attention? And why the hell Snape had?

'No', Piotr's voice brought Harry's attention back at the matter at hand, 'Ernest is clever than that, much more clever than that. Severus believes, and I agree with him, is that Mr. Hamilton's problem is that he doesn't trust himself. He prohibits himself from feeling any sudden, strong emotion for fear of how he'll react.'

Harry felt the almost uncontrollable urge to slap himself on the forehead. Again he felt the fool, for the third bloody time in one day. What Piotr was telling him wasn't any news; he had heard it all before, hadn't he? But being the same old stubborn thickhead Gryffindor that he was as an adolescent, he hadn't really listened before.

_And why was that, Harry James Potter?_, said an annoying little voice in his head that sounded remarkably like Hermione. _Because it had been the greasy git who said it, of course_, replied a smug voice that he could bet belonged to Ron.

It had been little over a few days when he and Snape had had a conversation about it. It had been one of the many things they had discussed during that fated night Harry had spent brewing the Wolfsbane Potion down at Snape's private laboratory.

The only reason why he had not thought it over before was because Snape had gone so out of his way to irritate him that night, that Harry purposefully whipped away from his mind any recollection from that night. Well, not all of it, right? He could still remember ever single thing Snape had said to poke him, didn't he?

This time Harry did groan out loud. How could he be so stupid? So immature? He better than anyone knew how much of an arse Severus Snape could be but he also knew that the man was bloody brilliant whenever the git wanted to.

"Ernest Hamilton's a 15 years old werewolf, Potter." The Slytherin had sneered between barked instructions and belittling comments about Harry's brewing ability, "…he can kill, savage and destroy many lives if he's only in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mr. Hamilton doesn't only deal with his animalistic urges during the full moon; they're there dormant inside him all the time. Have you ever seen him in an argument? Or complaining about any of his schoolmates? Other than the obvious reasons, has Mr. Hamilton ever gone to the infirmary because of a reckless exchange of hexes in the halls?"

At the time Harry hadn't paid attention at what the older man had said but now it came in a rush back to him. In a way or another, he hadn't been able to take those words from his mind. Not really the words but what Snape had meant with them. The former spy had berated Harry's opinion by saying that whatever was causing Ernest's violent changes, and strengthened the blonde boy's immunity to the potion, had something to do with Hamilton's magic, not his body as Harry had previously thought.

Snape even hinted that if it had anything to do with Ernest's magic then it was connected to his emotions, after all, at 15 a wizard and witch hardly had any real control over their raw power. Even thought many people overlooked werewolves' magical capability, it was still something to be taken in consideration, especially during adolescence when the hormones were high, yes, but so was the emotional instability.

'Snape told me something to that effect', Harry frowned in thought before he looked up over at Piotr, '...he said that Ernest keeps a tight leash on his aggression, and this might be triggering all the changes. Not affecting his body, as I had thought, but his magic.'

'Yes, we talked about it, too', Piotr nodded before raising his left eyebrow slightly. His tone was rather curious as he asked, '…and do you agree with him?'

Did he? Harry's frown deepened. At the time he couldn't really wrap his mind around the concept. After all, Snape was going into unknown territory there wasn't he? What he was proposing was pure conjectures, right? There was no study on the subject, no one bothered to research the subject and found it simpler to just marginalize werewolves. Still, the more Harry thought about…

'In ways...I—', Potter pushed his hair from his eyes with an impatient gesture he didn't indulge in since he was 17, 'Yes. I believe I do. I used to blow things up...as a kid. I even managed to put my cousin in a glass cage at the zoo, and once I even blew up an aunt.'

'I put the Christmas' Tree on fire when I was 10', Piotr smirked lightly as he leaned back on his opulent chair, '…because I wanted a wand and my parents gave me a broom.'

'Spoiled brat, you were.'

Antokolsky chuckle in agreement and winked at his grinning friend.

'True but I also made my eyebrows re-grow with pure force of will when my older brother shaved them off with a shaving spell he heard my father use when he was 12.'

'I made the same thing', Harry replied, knowing what it was his friend was trying to tell him with that personal anecdote,' ...with my hair...my uncle chopped it and I hated. It grew back overnight.'

It just figured, didn't it? Even after so many years, even with everything that happened and everything that had been said and done, Harry still refused to listen. Just like he had when he was 15, and just like he had when he was 16. It was his single-mindedness when it came to anything that Severus Snape said that had kept him from ever learning how to master Occlumency, it had been his dislike of the man that had almost kept him from knowing how very much he enjoyed to brew and it was because of Harry's stubbornness that he had almost died before being able to cast any spell silently.

And in the end, each one of the things that Snape had tried to teach him, make him understand and dominate, each one of them had saved Harry's life or would have saved his hide if he had got over himself for one instant and had actually allowed himself to listen. But Harry sometimes could be as bloody thick as Snape could be unpleasant – and if those two traits coincided…well, it was bound to bring the worst from both men.

It had been after all why Harry had looked into a Pensieve he had no business looking into in the first place, wasn't it?

Severus Snape could be a damn right bastard when he wanted but Harry Potter had always known that. What Harry shouldn't have forgotten was that despite it all, Snape again was the only one who could help him help someone he cared about. And in the end, that was all Harry should focus on.

'I'll talk with Snape', Harry stood with his eyes emerald and shinning with determination and resolution, 'We have a potion to brew.'

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

Long time, no see, eh? RL has been pretty hard on me lately but I can assure you all that I have not forsaken this story--and I won't do it so anytime soon.

I'd like to thank everyone who's added me and this fic to their allert list, that really inspires me to write more and more. I hope the next chapter will be uploaded very soon, so please be patient with me. :)


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter Twelve**_

_Thursday, the 22__nd_

Despite his determination, Harry wouldn't be able to talk to Snape until much later that day. Harry had classes the whole afternoon and -- thanks to the accidents that had already happened -- he barely had time to clean and fix the classroom before more students arrived, and to make matters that much more difficult, the Durmstrang's resident Potions Master hadn't shown up for dinner, either.

Harry would have started his search after Snape's whereabouts right after dinner, if he hadn't been accosted by Hugo, Scarlet and Franz Hausser. The three adolescents were asking after their friends but for complete different reasons; Halo wanted to know how Octavian was doing since Madam Inas still wouldn't allow Hugo into the hospital wing so he could visit the redhead, while Scarlet and Franz wanted to know why Ernest had been allowed to go back to class so early.

It was that bit that really gave Harry a pause, for he hadn't known that Ingrid had let Ernest out of her clutches so the boy could sit for his Potions class, and taking in Scarlet's frantic look-- one Harry filed away for later consideration-- and Franz' honest concern, the professor was certain that Ernest hadn't fully recovered.

When he questioned his students about Hamilton's whereabouts, since Harry hadn't seen the boy at his usual place at the Brontë's table, Franz told him that Ernest had said he would go back to the hospital wing and have dinner there. Re-assuring his students that their friends would be fine, and letting them know that he was going to check on them right away, Harry left to talk to Ingrid.

At the infirmary Harry had been communicated that Octavian Masson was coming along just fine and would be able to leave soon to enjoy the weekend with the rest of the alumni. As for Ernest, Ingrid had grumpily announced her annoyance at young Mr. Hamilton's blatant disregard of her express orders to stay put. At the first sign of slight, and fleeting, inattention of the ever-watchful nurse, the young man had dashed out of her infirmary -- not only once but twice.

Having heard every single disparaging word Ingrid had made him memorize so he could pass them on to Ernest, Harry found himself going back to the dungeons he had left not but two hours ago. If Ernest wasn't at the Brontë common room, or at his dormitory -- and he wasn't at neither or else his housemates wouldn't have asked after him -- then there was only one place where he could possibly be at that time of the evening.

* * *

It took him ten minutes of relentless knocking, which left his knuckles tad sore, but Harry was forced to accept the fact that it wasn't that no one was answering the door but that maybe there was no one inside Snape's office -- and it was about that time that Harry started to get rather worried. The only thing he had had in his mind until then was talking to Snape so they could find a way to hurry things along and make Ernest's potion work as soon as possible. He also suspected that the Potions professor would want to know details about the incident in Harry's class earlier that day and even if it wasn't past Snape to interrogate Ernest himself, Harry thought that the older wizard would probably have loads of questions for Harry to answer. 

But all of that went down the drain now that Ernest seemed to have vanished in thin air. What gave Harry any amount of clarity of mind was the fact that apparently Ernest had made sure to be present at his last potions class of the week before he disappeared, and that meant that the last person to have seen Ernest Hamilton had been Severus Snape. Either way, Harry would only get his most pressing issues resolved once he found the older Slytherin.

The irony didn't go unnoticed and Harry had no idea if he should appreciate it or curse it.

Still, he had to find at least one of those two so he could find the other. Knowing that Snape's office was connected to his private chambers -- as so were Durmstrang's accommodations for every teacher – the fact that Snape hadn't stalked out of the door to eat Harry alive for bothering him was a dead give away that the older wizard hadn't gone extra earlier to bed. That being the Gryffindor had no other choice but to direct himself to the nearest classroom. If Harry didn't find Snape or Ernest there, then he would scream bloody murder until one of them showed up.

A dramatic course of action for sure, but it had worked in the past.

The dungeons were so naturally gloomy, and at Durmstrang the illumination was intentionally so scarce, that Harry was able to see the blast of light coming from inside the Potions classroom from quite a distance. It was enough to make him let out a breath of relief. So Snape was still working, good. Of course, it was quite unusual for any professor to work after hours at their classrooms; normally they would retire to their office for that, unless it was a matter that required practices in student disciplinary administration.

That meant detention, obviously.

But that was strange because Harry had been sure that he had seen both Johansson and Guberman during dinner, and usually they were the ones who had to stay after class serving detentions with Snape. It had already become such a routine that even the boys' housemates were surprised whenever they actually were allowed to join the rest of the students for dinner. Harry himself was forced to hold them back every now and again, so it was inevitable that they would develop such a habit when it came to Snape. Still, as far as Harry could tell, it wasn't as if those detentions really bothered those two students all that much.

Johansson and Guberman had both announced more than once that they learned more about potions during detention than during class. It was something they had said about Harry's detentions, too, when he taught potions. They weren't bad kids, as some of the teachers thought them to be, and they were quite smart since their pranks used high levels of advanced magic and most of the time they either altered a potion or actually created a minor spell to take a piss out of someone. That humorous inattention and inherent -- if masked -- intelligence were what had always made Harry very fond of Johansson and Guberman and why they reminded him so much of Fred and George Weasley.

What the boys claimed to have liked the most about his detentions was the fact that Harry wouldn't just make them do unpleasant things (scrubbing) or lengthy work (inches and inches of parchments). The Gryffindor would usually go over the potion they had purposefully messed up with, or experimented with, until he was sure both boys understood exactly what had been done, what were the effects, how to change them and how to prevent the joke from getting out of control. Of course, after such a throughout lesson he always made them promise they wouldn't do it again, and Harry would reinforce their obedience with veiled threats of retribution if he ever found out they hadn't kept to their word, but Johansson and Guberman always did keep their word.

Now, for them to actually like Snape's detention... It was such a foreign concept to Harry that he couldn't even imagine a reason why his students would feel that way about the extra time they had to suffer in Snape's hands. The Dark Arts professor knew all too well that the experience had been rather traumatizing to him, and he couldn't think of anyone that had ever felt any different about it. Well, at least no one other than Neci maybe but she didn't count since she had always had a way to deal with Snape that Harry never really got.

Besides, he very much doubted Severus Snape would adopt the same method Harry had with Johansson and Guberman during detention. It wouldn't be possible that Snape would do something like that.

Right?

Although... Harry did remember that Fred and George had never seemed to like Snape during schooldays but that also had never stopped them from getting themselves into trouble with him and therefore serving detentions with him. On the contrary really, Harry was pretty sure that even when that happened, especially during the twins' sixth year, they didn't sound awfully disheartened about the prospect. And if you think about it, Fred and George never failed their Potions OWLs or NEWTs. Sure, they passed by the skin of their teeth but that couldn't be really taken in consideration since most of their products for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes used high levels of not only Potions but also Transfiguration and Charms.

It couldn't possibly mean that Snape had actually...

No, Harry shook his head and chuckled at himself for the absurdity that had crossed his mind. There was no way Snape could do something like that. Harry knew there were deeper and more serious reasons for Snape to be after his head like a bloody hound during his school time, something other than just the hatred the former spy felt for Harry's father, but that certainly didn't mean he could suddenly believe that Snape had actually helped Fred and George at all.

It just wasn't like the older Slytherin to do something like that. Sure, Harry didn't know him all that well-- or at all, if you think about it-- but it just didn't make sense with the type of man Severus Snape was.

The closer Harry got to his former classroom, the more he got distracted with his thoughts… especially when an unbidden and rather unusual question popped up in his head _"But do you know what type of man Severus Snape really is, mate?"_

Harry had seen the man daily for 6 years and he had been around the older wizard under strenuous situations that would normally form unbreakable bonds or that would, at the very least, result in a certain amount of mutual knowledge. But then again, the man Harry had thought he had all figured out back then wound up not being Snape at all. Harry had wrongly believed he knew everything about a backstabbing traitor and murderer when in reality Snape was one of the good guys, one of the heroes -- Dumbledore's man, through and through.

That man -- that Snape -- wasn't one Harry had ever even got close of seeing a glimpse of, let alone knew well. After all, when Snape had saved Harry's life -- not only during the last battle but also all the times the older Slytherin had risked his neck to keep Harry's intact for 7 years -- Harry either had no idea that that was what the older man had really been doing, or he was too busy trying to keep himself, and those he loved alive, to really take notice.

It had always made him feel terrible, that lack of appreciation from his part. It wasn't that he was ever guilty that he had hated Snape's guts as a kid because the older man hadn't exactly cared much for him back then either but after Voldemort's demise Harry started to feel seriously ashamed of himself for never giving Sanpe the benefit of the doubt. Harry knew that would have been too much to ask of his younger self, or of any other child really, but the fact remained that despite hating his guts, Snape had done everything that had been in his power to keep Harry alive.

Sometimes, at the cost of his own Slytherin skin and sanity.

Harry wasn't naive enough to think that whatever the former spy had done; had been done for Harry's sake alone but did that really matter? The fact was that Snape had done it all, even though everything in his Slytherin cunning mind, heart, body and soul probably told him not to do anything at all -- and well, Gryffindor to the core that he was, that was all that mattered to Harry really.

Surely he wasn't about to like Snape because of that, Harry didn't agree with the older man in practically nothing and he doubted that would ever change. Harry was sure their personalities would forever clash and that even if, miraculously, one day all the resentment they deeply held for each went away, they would never be able to relate easily.

Blinking repeatedly before exposing himself to the full blast of the light coming from inside the classroom, a great contrast to the dimness that had surrounded him until then, Harry shook his head yet again but this time it wasn't to clear his thought, or dispel them, it actually was to mock himself a bit.

As if it was possible for Snape and Harry to ever get over their turbulent past enough to get to a stage where they could relate at all, Harry chuckled at himself again. It would take a bloody natural disaster, certain painful death _and_ completely leave of senses for Severus Snape to ever look at Harry and see anything but James and the misguided notion he had of Harry himself.

Besides, it wasn't as if Harry cared to get to know Snape enough to stop disliking the man. Even if the Potions Master was surprising him more and more each day ever since they met again back in London.

Amused now by his preposterous thoughts, Harry was caught absolutely off-guard, and therefore was shocked, by the sight before him.

Not wearing his robes and with his shirt and sweater folded up to his elbows-- a brush in his right hand and one of the filthiest cauldrons Harry had ever seen supported by the left -- was Ernest Hamilton. If the slight perspiration dotting his forehead and the flush from strain that tinged the flesh over his cheekbones were any indication, the fifth-year Brontë had been working hard for quite some time. The neat pile made of 5 clean cauldrons at the boy's side only attested to that.

'Ernest?' Harry couldn't help but gasp out, startling the blonde boy enough to make him jump '…what are you doing?'

At once Ernest's eyes snapped down at the cauldron and the brush, before he blushed furiously and looked decidedly uncomfortable. All the possibilities that crossed Harry's mind made more sense than the dragged out words the boy ashamedly breathed out as answer.

'Serving detention.'

'Serving detention?' Harry said the word as if the very concept of it was completely unknown to him 'With whom? Snape?'

The shock was so tremendous that Harry didn't even notice that he hadn't used the older man's honorific in front of their student. But that wasn't really something he was worried about at the moment, because there was no way Ernest was serving detention.

Ernest had never served detention.

Ever.

Then why the hell was he there scrubbing cauldrons and looking as any wayward student might after bringing Snape's sadistic tendencies upon himself?

Ernest, if possible, turned a deeper shade of red and ducked his head so much that he was practically hiding behind the cauldron. He hadn't lifted his eyes to meet Harry's again, but he still answered his professor. Even if apparently he had chosen to communicate monosyllabically for the moment and his voice croaked slightly.

'Yes.'

That was enough to make Harry's eyes wide to the size of saucers, but it wasn't like Ernest would catch such an idiotic expression on his face. Why, with the boy refusing to look anywhere but inside the cauldron in front of him and all. It was then that Harry realized that he was turning a rather embarrassing situation into a debacle of epic proportions, for Ernest was clearly very ashamed of not only earning detention but also with Harry catching him at it.

Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to smile encouragingly at his student, even if the boy wouldn't see it. As blandly as he could and aware that his surprise was still discernable in his voice-- though not as much as it had been before-- Harry asked. 'What happened?'

All of Harry's caution seemed to be completely useless because Ernest disappeared further into the cauldron. The blonde young man coughed to cover up his discomfort as he clearly forced himself to answer.

'I blew up a cauldron.' The blonde said, overlapping one word over the other in such a way that Harry almost didn't catch it. When he finally untangled the puzzle, he started.

'You', the green-eyed wizard repeated it slowly, as if he had never heard such words before '...blew up--a cauldron.'

Harry knew it was stupid. The boy had just said it and he really didn't have to put such long pauses between the words. It wouldn't make what Ernest had said stop being true and it would only make the young man feel that much more ashamed of the incident but Harry really couldn't help it.

To hear something like that, for Harry, was the same as hearing that Albus Dumbledore had not only been gay but that he had also had an affair with Grindelwald -- mind, that all of that was true but the very idea that Dumbledore had ever had _any_ kind of sex life was so shocking to Harry that he still consciously made an effort to delete that piece of information that his former Headmaster's portrait had deliberated rubbed in his face a few years back. Harry was sure that the bloody thing had only done it to stump him into a catatonic state -- and it had succeeded.

The fact was that the very idea of Ernest being responsible for any potions accident, especially one Neville Longbottom was an unwilling master at, was so preposterous that Harry couldn't even fathom a reaction, much in the fashion of what had happened to him before a smiling and twinkling Albus Dumbledore replica.

'I overused the murtlap in class', Ernest replied muffled by the cauldron after the uncomfortable silence that fell over them as Harry tried to regain control of his reeling shock. Young Hamilton sighed dejectedly unaware of his professor's thoughts, '...it was stupid really. Just because my hands–' Ernest shook his head, straightening a bit so the top of his head was visible. '...well, I destroyed both Scarlet's cauldron and mine. Not to mention our desk and almost peeled Fyodor Hudgen's entire scalp off.'

Harry ran his hands over his hair and tried to focus on what had been said. He still couldn't grasp the idea that Ernest had made such a crass mistake in a potion -- it wasn't that Harry believed Ernest above any error but the fact was that Harry knew that his student hadn't made any while working with a cauldron ever since the boy was 10 years old. Ernest was so very methodic and neurotically organized that even if he did screw anything up while brewing -- something he rarely did -- he was always quick to counteract the mistake so that any disaster would be avoided.

'What were you concocting?' Harry finally inquired, thinking that maybe Snape had asked for the one potion that Ernest had never heard about before -- as hard as such thing was to believe, it was the only explanation Harry could come up to.

'...Felix Felicis' was Ernest's subdued answer after a slight hesitation.

'But that's–' Harry couldn't even finish because he didn't even know what to say to communicate his confusion. He had supervised Ernest's first brewing of the Felix Felicis when the blonde had been a third year and Hamilton had assisted him on Johansson and Guberman's detention when Harry had taught the potion the year before and the two boys had again missed most of the class -- immersed as they had been on the potion they had developed to make a classmate's hair turn bright orange.

Ernest sighed again and finally raised his head, though he still kept his face mostly down. He was still blushing something fierce but now the blonde looked and sounded more resigned about Harry's reaction. The professor was sure that his student was bracing himself for his disappointment.

'I had already got it right several times, I know... it was stupid', the blonde boy groaned softly and steadily under his breath but Harry was sure Ernest was unaware of such a thing, '...I disappointed Prof. Snape and he was right to get mad at me. I mean, you had already taught me and I brewed a flawless one just yesterday! I am the one who should help Prof Snape with the others, not the one to embarrass him in front of everyone. Masson was bloody ecstatic.'

It wasn't unexpected but Harry really wasn't prepared to hear the amount of chagrin and self-admonishment that were so clear in Ernest Hamilton's voice. That was the very first time that Harry was so unavoidably certain of the respect and admiration Ernest felt towards Snape. Of course, it was something he had counted on, and it was quite inevitable really, but Harry hadn't realized until now that the feelings were so very deep and strong already. After all, the Slytherin was teaching at Durmstrang for less than a month now.

Even though the blonde boy was clearly bothered by what had happened, Harry noticed that Ernest was even more concerned about what would be Snape's opinion of him now. To witness something like that was such a strange thing to Harry... Yes, he was now close to people who cared, inexplicably so, about Snape ever since they were kids but he had never heard Blaise or Piotr talk about the man like that. Sure, whenever his Slytherin friends talked about their former Head of House, there was unmistakable fondness and respect, even admiration, but not to the degree Harry heard now in Ernest's voice.

He had never been close to anyone who cared about what Severus Snape thought of them enough to actually dread to fall from the Potions Master's good graces. Suddenly an unbidden thought crossed his mind, and Harry wouldn't be able to say why he had thought it at all but there it was.

_Maybe that's how Malfoy felt about him... maybe; Malfoy really _did_ look up to Snape._

'It's the trembling?' Harry asked at length, knowing that he wouldn't be able to find an answer for his musings about Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape's dynamics right in that moment -- or ever, really.

'Yes', Ernest stopped pretending he was scrubbing and looked down at his slightly shaking hands. He shrugged but Harry knew better than to think Ernest was anywhere near used to such a thing, '...it comes and goes at the most inappropriate times but I'm all right, sir. Don't worry.'

'I'll talk to Prof. Snape', the Gryffindor assured his student, already aware that Ernest would never bring it to Snape's attention. And if it meant so much to Ernest, though Harry couldn't understand it really, he would help the young man back to Snape's good graces, '...I'll explain to him that –'

'No, please, don't.' Ernest shook his head and Harry would have pressed the issue if the boy hadn't finally met his eyes, the hazel pair shinning with obvious plead, '...like I said, he was right.'

Nodding in resignation, and smiling understandingly, Harry decided to ask after the source of his problems. Even if Ernest still looked a bit too worse for wear, Harry was sure that the boy wouldn't leave until his Potions professor thought he had been punished enough. Hamilton was probably the only young man in the whole of the world who would sneak out of a hospital wing to scrub cauldrons for Severus Snape. Even Harry, who had spent enough of his time with Madam Pomfrey back in the days, would never trade her fussing -- or a good dose of Skele-gro -- for Snape's sneer but then again he figured Ernest probably didn't have to hear half of the things Harry had been forced to put up with from Snape.

'Where is Prof. Snape?' Harry finally ruffled the top of the boy's head and was relieved when the blonde wrinkled his nose lightly but blushed as he always did at the treatment -- therefore relieving some of the tension that had built up the moment Harry had arrived.

'At his laboratory, sir.' Ernest answered, smiling back slightly and going back to work.

'Don't overdo it.' Harry teased kindly and winked at his student.

'I won't', Ernest assured him with a slight chuckle that wasn't very heartfelt but that Harry could tell wasn't insincere -- and for the moment the Gryffindor was sure it was the best his student would have to offer.

* * *

'Snape?' Harry called quietly as he knocked at the door that led to the private laboratory. 

When he had been the Potions professor -- and therefore that classroom and laboratory had been his -- the connection between the two rooms had never been left open like that. But then again, Harry had never taken a pupil and had never seen the need to leave his students to their own device during detention. You never knew what the little hellions would do when left alone near cauldrons and in a room full of potions ingredients. It was one of the many things over the years that he had had to admit that Snape had actually been right about.

There was no answer to his inquiry though, and even with the passage open, Harry hesitated to walk into the laboratory. After all, the last time he had intruded without permission into Snape's laboratory he had peaked at something he shouldn't have even touched and the Slytherin had very nearly, and rightfully, hexed Harry into the next century. To avoid such a potentially dangerous deja vú, Harry insisted some more.

'Snape?'

When there was no answer still, Harry decided to risk and walked inside. He doubted he'd come across a Pensieve there but just in case he made sure his hands were clasped behind his back, promising himself that he wouldn't do something like that again. No matter how curious he could get.

In the end, it wasn't really necessary since as he looked around, he realized that there was no Pensieve lying about. That was good, the problem was that there was no Snape to be seen either. But Harry knew he couldn't be too far away since there was a simmering cauldron on the work table. Deciding that a fuming cauldron couldn't possibly hold any private memories, Harry went to check out what it was that Snape was brewing that the older man couldn't possibly do it while supervising Ernest's detention.

Leaning forward slightly, keeping a safe distance from the cauldron, Harry took a slightly deep breath and picked on the exotic and faintly sweet scent that was coming from the bubbling potion, cautious for he was aware that it could be a poisonous fume. Harry frowned when he couldn't identify the potion and looked inside the cauldron, only to deepen his frown when he couldn't pinpoint what that substance could possibly be. Although he could pick on the smell of a few known ingredients such as Kindler Tree's roots, the magical signature he could sense from the potion wasn't one he recognized at all.

'What are you doing, Snape?' he asked quietly to himself only intake a sharp breath when someone hissed in his ear.

'Quiet, Potter.'

The words were spoken calmly and quietly but the undercurrent of annoyance was quite clear, even if the silken tone was such that it made Harry frown and grit his teeth. His head spun around; looking out of the cauldron he had been inspecting and finding the looming figure of none other than Severus Snape standing right behind him. Moving away guiltily from the potion he had been studying without success, Harry glared fiercely at the Potions Master -- still disconcerted by Snape's the sudden appearance.

'What the–how can you creep on people like that?' He hissed back, caught off-guard for the nth time that day.

As usual, Snape kept on as if Harry hadn't said a thing. In fact, the older man only made a shooing movement with his hand as if Harry was an insect that was currently in his way and that he didn't have the time or inclination to deal with at the moment. It naturally made Harry bristle, even if he did stepped out of the Slytherin's way.

'This is a very unstable mix, Potter; the magic around it will affect it directly', Snape continued as if Harry hadn't said anything but he was speaking so softly that Harry actually had to strain to hear him. 'By that, I mean that the magic level in the room must be harmonic and constant, the focus can't lapse and the emotions must be reined for they are connected with the magic that surround us. You're one breath away from disturbing three days worth of work', he paused significantly before ensnaring Harry in a trademark "I promise you pain, if you disobey me" glare before continuing, '...don't.'

Harry rolled his eyes as Snape began to stir the potion. Immediately, all of Snape's annoyance seemed to be forgotten for even the older man's stance relaxed before Harry's very eyes. The Slytherin's expression took on a concentrated expression that made it obvious that all of his attention was focused on the cauldron he was working on.

Harry had never really had the opportunity to witness such a thing. Normally, when he had been at Hogwarts, Snape wouldn't really divide his focus on a potion during class or detention, preferring to dedicate himself solemnly to belittle Harry and offend his father and godfather. Even after they both became part of Durmstrang's staff, they hadn't exactly got together to share academic interests. The only time they had been in a laboratory together Snape had made Harry do all the work while he just took notes and was a complete jerk.

If you think about it, it was nothing too out of their comfort zone.

But this right here, this was definitely not what one would consider part of their interaction pattern. Sure, Snape was ignoring Harry completely -- and that kind of did ring true to their past -- but the fact that he wasn't glaring, sneering at his former student wasn't a very common occurrence. Not to disturb such a peaceful anomaly, Harry watched silently as the older man worked. At least he did for 20 full minutes when his curiosity got the best of him.

'What is the base of this potion? I could detect Kindler Tree's roots', Harry made sure he spoke as quietly as Snape had, before he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, '...and Angelica Archangelica but what else?'

Harry honestly didn't expect his former professor to answer him at all but the older man surprised him by obliging him.

'Star fruit's leafs.' Snape replied succinctly but quietly, his hand expertly working over the cauldron.

'Star fruit?'

'Leafs.'

Noticing even in the strangely subdued tone a hint of challenge, Harry racked his brain after any information he might have thrown in there about that particular fruit. It was highly frustrating when he still came out short.

'Isn't that', he wrinkled his nose in thought, '...an Asian fruit?'

'Yes.'

'I didn't know it had magical properties.'

That unsurprisingly earned him a snort. Harry couldn't understand how Snape was able to put so much derision into a sound that always made him, and almost everyone he knew, sound either merely rude or plainly stupid. It was rather fascinating really but that didn't stop it from pissing Harry off.

'It doesn't, its _medicinal _properties are normally used to slow cardiac pressure', the older man stopped his stirring and then picked up his wand and controled the height of the flames, before adding in seemingly afterthought '...moderately so, of course.'

By then, the fumes that had been leaving the cauldron had ceased and the potion adopted a brown color that made Harry think immediately about peanut butter. He remembered a few other potions that could get to that shade after much brewing. The Strong Will Potion was one of them but it didn't affect one's blood circulation or else Harry would surely know, for no one had studied that potion as he had. It had been only during the second, and last, war against Voldemort that the potion started to be used to bring people under the Imperius Curse and back to awareness enough so they could fight to get out of the spell's influence. Since he had been the one to find this out, Harry based his Potions Specialization on proving such a thing so he could patent his discovery and now that bit of information was included in every potions book ever published -- what was possible only because most of the ancient tomes were self-updated.

Even though he had been very proud of himself for being asked to give seminars for something other than defeating Voldemort, Harry had always failed to mention that the discovery had really been an accident. At the time he had had no idea of what he was doing when he had made Ron drink the potion and the redhead had had no other choice but to swallow it since he had been tied up to a chair.

Even though Harry really had thought that his best friend had been in great need of a tad stronger will at that moment -- so he wouldn't kill Harry and hurt Hermione-- the green-eyed wizard had had no idea what the outcome of his little experience would be. And despite of the fact that she had not come up with any better plan of action to counter the Imperius Macnair had cast on Ron, Hermione almost flayed Harry alive, saying he could have killed the redhead or something.

Harry would claim to the rest of his days that it was then and there that his natural inclinations for Potions re-surfaced after years of Snape-induced repression... while Hermione would forever scowl him for not even thinking it all through before shoving potions indiscriminately down people's throat.

But still, what matter was that it had worked and that now that his curiosity was peaked, Harry wanted to know what potion or draught Snape was preparing. Even thought the Strong Will Potion adopted that colour when finished, mainly because of Angelica Achangelica and Harry could tell the plant was the basic ingredient for both potions, there was no concoction he knew that would stay in that colour after over 10 minutes of simmering.

'Are you changing any recipe?' he asked dubiously, 'I'm not aware of any potion that has those ingredients as base.'

When the flame was all but blue little flickers under the cauldron, Snape cast a status charm on it and turned to the sink so he could wash his utensils and hands. Potions utensils couldn't be cleaned magically or else they could carry residual magic and therefore change or completely ruin a potion. Neville, and everyone in his First Year at Hogwarts, had learned that the hard way.

'I'd be surprised if you were', Snape replied after a while, his voice dripping with a smugness that Harry allowed to roll right over him as he again clinically studied the potion, '...this is a recipe I developed on my own.'

'What is it for?' Yep, it looked jut like peanut butter, Harry thought, so much so that he was beginning to feel a sudden craving for it.

'Mr. Hamilton's blood pressure increases exponentially during his transformation'; Snape replied a bit louder than before but quite neutrally. It wasn't that he was being nice, only that he was indulging Harry because Snape probably didn't want to allow Harry to irritate him overly so and risk disturbing the magic inside the laboratory much. 'I don't have enough time to make effective alterations in his Wolfsbane Potion now. I'm working solemnly with speculations about what might be causing the failure of the current recipe and, as it is, the best course of action is to find a mean to assist the boy for the next full moon.'

Before his eyes Harry saw the now boiling substance inside the cauldron suddenly change and look completely transparent and if he wasn't wrong, he was sure it's density seemed to have been altered, too. He really loved when things like that happened, Harry'd have to ask Snape for the recipe later. Or maybe now, since the older man was unusually solicitous.

'I see... but won't it affect his Wolfsbane Potion?'

'Yes, Potter', and with only those two words Harry knew he wouldn't get away with asking anything from Snape anymore that night. With s swirl of black robes, the Slytherin was sneering at Harry and with a wave of his wand extinguishing the flames from under the cauldron he had been working on, '...I spent the last three days wasting my precious time in a draught that will null your already incompetent work.'

Automatically Harry frowned, glaring, and he knew he looked torn. For a second, Harry didn't know if he bristled in annoyance or indignation but then Harry remember that he had promised himself that he wouldn't lose his temper with Snape again -- after all, Harry knew exactly what to expect from the other man where he, Harry, was concerned -- it should be easy to just shrug off the former Death Eater's sarcasm.

Yeah, right... easier said than done, but Harry hadn't been put in Gryffindor for nothing so he could grit his teeth and just do the job.

Most of the time, anyway.

'I didn't mean it that way', his voice was only ever so slightly strained when he replied and Harry was really proud of himself for that. Snape for his part only took the time to sneer before turning his back on Harry again so he could inspect the potion.

'No, it won't affect his Wolfsbane in the least'; the tone bellied the struggle it was for Snape to put up with Harry's presumed imbecility. It was a good thing the older man couldn't see Harry tense in response at the provocation, '...the idea is put Mr. Hamilton into a more relaxed condition, soothing him physically so he can have more control over himself emotionally and therefore over his magic.'

'It's a great way to prove your theory, too', Harry replied conversationally, forcing himself to relax and offering the polite smile that he knew irked Snape deeply, '...I was talking to Piotr and I think you're right.'

'Be still my beating heart.'

_Ha, bloody, ha. _Rolling his eyes Harry let the joke slide and got to the matter that had taken him there in the first place.

'I think there's something about Ernest's magic that might be weakening his response to the potion but still we must find what exactly is spurting it on.'

Silence, for only a heartbeat, maybe two but it gave Harry a pause all the same. After all, you never know what to expect from one Severus Snape and Harry had learned that constant vigilance was always the best course of action, especially if you really wanted to have any control over the situation and keep yourself from throttling the git. Knowing the reprieve would only mean the bite would sting that much more, Harry waited for the inevitable cutting remark. He wasn't disappointed.

'Is there a reason for you to be here, Potter?' Snape managed to even look put out as he said it, '...or you were just waiting for an opportunity to ruin my work and bother me?'

'Actually', the Gryffindor took a deep calming breath and only then continued, '...I'd like to take you somewhere.'

Harry could honestly say that he had never even hoped to ever catch that expression on Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Greasy Git, Voldemort's Traitor Spy and Dumbledore's Loyal Soldier -- or pawn depends on your point of view, really -- but there it was. If he had known that it would only take him a mildly ambiguous phrase to get the older Slytherin to stare at him like that, he would have said something sooner. As it happened, he was just trying to keep his lips from visibly twitching as Snape raised a questioning eyebrow.

'I am sure you know that you'll have to elaborate, Potter.'

Harry coughed into his right fist to cover up an irresistible chuckle and, only to amuse himself further, waved his hand about gently and tilted his head to the side, motioning the door. 'Will Ernest's detention last much longer?'

Snape's eyebrows couldn't possibly rise any higher than that but Harry could see the older man was beginning to get irritated as he noticed the mirth dancing in Harry's eyes. 'That depends only on his scrubbing skills.'

Nodding and deciding that that was not the most appropriate moment to ruffle Snape's feathers, Harry sobered up and set his jaw as he finally said what he had taken the whole afternoon to steel himself to say. 'I want to show you where Ernest and I go during the full moon.'

Harry would never do something like this under any other circumstance, not without Ernest's knowledge -- let alone without the boy's approval -- but they were running out of time and the longer they took to help Hamilton, the more the blonde boy suffered. He had wasted enough time as it was and Harry was now determined to give Snape any bit of information, no matter how insignificant it might seem, that could assist the Potions Master in his task.

'I already know about the cell.' Snape drawled, looking as if he was very close to rolling his eyes.

_What goes around comes around, alright. _Now it was Harry's turn to start and watch Snape look infinitely pleased with himself. The younger man was so very baffled that the only thing he thought of replying was an instinctive, 'It's not a cell, it's a cellar.'

'Semantics', Snape waved a dismissive hand as he stirred the potion once clockwise and twice counterclockwise. The carelessness in that one word made Harry close his hands into fists but he was still too surprised to actually get as annoyed as he normally would over such a thing.

'How do you know about it?'

Snape gave him a flat look that clearly questioned Harry's intelligence but answered all the same, 'Mr. Hamilton took me there.'

'He...did?'

'I see you haven't lost your absurd incapacity to comprehend the obvious', Snape commented mildly as if that didn't surprise him in the least.

Harry felt like punching him.

'Is that all, Mr. Potter?' Snape asked, making sure he sounded as if it damn well better be and also as if he knew it was -- and felt pleased as hell about it.

No, it's not you bloody bastard, was what went through Harry's mind but he was aware of how well such an answer would go with the older wizard so he just let out a slightly groaned, 'Yes.'

'Then leave, Potter, you have disturbed me enough already', when Harry opened his mouth to say something quite nasty in response Snape stumped him yet again, '...on your way out, inform Mr. Hamilton that he's dismissed of his detention for tonight.'

Honestly, Harry thought as he growled softly under his breath, what a hellish day.

_

* * *

_

_Friday, the 23__rd_

'Something's bothering you.'

Early in the morning in already with a headache making his head throb -- a residual affect from the other day's events -- Harry thought that was what one could probably qualify as a royal understatement but since he valued Piotr's friendship very much -- and he really did love his job -- he refrained from pointing it out.

Instead, he only glowered at his strong black cup of coffee before questioning his friend on something that had kept him awake for most of the previous night.

'Did you know Ernest took Snape to the cellar?'

To his credit, Piotr looked slightly out of his depth by Harry's bluntness. The young Headmaster took his time to answer the question, mostly because he was trying to figure out what exactly was his friend's problem since the answer to that question was rather simple.

'Yes, Severus mentioned it to me.'

'And then Snape gave him detention for blowing up his cauldron,' Harry said it with a strangely clinical voice, despite his obvious exhaustion and bad mood.

As usual, Piotr decided to take the comment at face value and chuckled softly, 'Wouldn't be the first. Mr. Johansson and Mr. Guberman go through the same thing almost every evening.'

'But they don't do it because their hands are trembling uncontrollably.'

'Not if shaking with laughter doesn't fit in that description,' Antokolsky granted off-handedly and he knew he had reached Harry's limit when the younger wizard shot him an ugly warning look.

'I don't understand', Potter shook his head as he focused all his attention on the black liquid before him, '...Ernest has never taken anyone there.'

Piotr nodded slowly, looking fleetingly at the Potions Master's empty seat. Severus hadn't shown for breakfast as he hadn't been present for dinner last night. Piotr would have to send for the house-elves so they would prepare something for the older Slytherin to munch on between classes -- though not before firecalling Snape and warning him off hexing or verbally abusing the elves, of course. Looking back at his still glowering Dark Arts professor, Antokolsky sighed before he replied.

'As far as I know, Mr. Hamilton has never openly admitted his condition to anyone, too.'

'Yes, and yet', Harry set his jaw stubbornly, his eyes narrowing and his lips pursuing slightly. He was the very mask of frustration and annoyed confusion, '... Ernest did both.'

Piotr hadn't figured out the whole problem yet but he didn't really dwell on it since he was pretty sure not even Harry knew why such things were bothering him so. But then again, just because he didn't fully comprehended what was going on, it didn't mean Antokolsky couldn't say anything about it. As the last students began to get up from their seats and started to gather their books and bags, rushing to finish homework -- or hurrying up the copying of answers -- Piotr decided to give his friend something to think about.

'What is it that really bothers you, Harry?' he began kindly and patiently, making sure he phrased the question carefully, '...the fact that you don't trust Severus or the fact that Ernest does?'

By the look of Harry Potter's glower as he got up and found his way to his classroom, Piotr was pretty sure the Gryffindor wouldn't rest until he found the answer.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_

I know, I know! It took me long enough...I'm really sorry but 2007 was a real biatch to me. You can be sure I tried my damn hardest to post new chapters more often but it just couldn't be done.

I'd like to thank everyone who kept having faith, especially the ones who got out of their way to poke me and let me know they really love this fic as much as I do. Thank you!

Now, if you'll exuse me...I have to get my hands dirty on Chapter 13.


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